Sunday, August 10, 2014



*Story contains M/M situations and violence*

Isaac stared at the mirror, a third cotton ball grasped between thumb and forefinger, removing the last of the make-up that had once transformed him from simple salesman to stunning rock star.

He should have showered. Remnants of… what was his name? Kabel? Kain? No – Kai. Yes, Kai. Remnants of Kai still stained his skin. No doubt marking him yet again with its veiled condescension – a non-existent scarlet A, a branded ‘whore’, bruised, suckled flesh that read ‘cheap, slut, loose’.

They always seemed so nice. So promising. Whispered prose of adoration and love, words that lasted until flesh penetrated flesh, until those sounds became grunts and groans, before fading away to awkward apologies seconds after orgasm filled latex.

Isaac sighed, stared at the streaked and used cotton, and couldn’t help but make the comparison – that which was once pure and white, used until it was filthy, and tossed into the trash.

With trembling hands, Isaac picked up his beer from the vanity and flipped off the bathroom light. He padded across thick carpet, walked through the unlit, quiet living room, and paused at the sliding doors that offered exit to the balcony. Sixteen floors up – and the view was spectacular. The wintry bite of October midnight was not enough to keep him from answering the siren song of the darkness. Isaac slid open the glass and stepped out into the night.

The flickering flashlights and constant headlights had long since faded. Ghouls, goblins and witches had gathered the last of their candy and gone home, chilled to the bone and spinning on sugar highs. Exhausted parents had turned off exterior lights and snuffed out the candles that brought life to pumpkins. Even the parties were done, leftover food left to dry and spoil, cans and glasses sitting in varying levels of emptiness, calling out to fruit fly and rodent whilst the homeowners frotted and fucked, cuddled and sucked in costumes and finery. Pretending to be, if just for one night, princes and sorcerers, cats and scarecrows.

Jeff and Jules had been at the party where Isaac had met Kai. And Casey and Bill. Mariah and Scott. Happy couples, the lot of them. Dancing and drinking, laughing and joking, and he’d faked along with them. Drank alcohol until it brought up his mood. Tried not to think of the fact he was alone. Again. Always.

Tried not to notice how fucking pleased they all were to be together.

Because, fuck, but he wanted that – needed it – for once. True love. Not just another guy. Not just another Kai.

He leaned his head back against brickwork and closed his eyes, pulling the last few inches from the bottle by instinct alone. “God,” he whispered aloud, “I wish I had that.”

Isaac felt the wind, a rush of something full of pheromones and intrigue – rich with intensity and more… Something dark. Something frightening.

He opened his eyes quickly. The bottle fell from his hand, shattered on concrete, as Isaac stared into eyes as red as blood, and a smile as luring as the Cheshire cat. “No,” the being spoke. “Not God. But perhaps I can still help.”

“What the…Who the… Jesus fucking Christ how did you… What… the… fuck!” Isaac backed towards the door, heart starting to patter. “Who the hell are you?”

The being lifted its head, seemed to scent the air. “Mmm,” it said. “I do love that aroma. And you were far more accurate the first time with ‘what’ than with the ‘who’. But you can call me Salvador if you prefer a name.”

“Jesus,” Isaac said again, as if the invocation alone would provide strength. “How did you… I mean… dude! We’re sixteen stories up here!”

Salvador smirked. “Travel is flexible for beings like myself, Isaac.”

And what the fuck, exactly, Isaac asked himself, did that mean? He began to inch towards the sliding door. “Well, I don’t know how you did it, but I suggest you just go back the way you came. Halloween is over you freaky fuck, and I’m not exactly up for guests.” Then he turned and bolted for the door, sliding, slamming, and locking the glass behind him with hands that shook and breath that rattled.

“That’s better,” the voice said behind him and Isaac shrieked, whipping around to stare in wonderment at the figure perched on the arm of his couch. “Much more private like this, no?”

“How… the fuck…” Isaac began to back-step along the wall. “Did you… do that?”

With the grace of a well-trained courtier, Salvador rose from the couch and began to walk towards Isaac’s retreating form. “The how, dear boy, is far less important than the why.”

Isaac felt a small whine building in his chest, wasn’t quite sure if it was bubbling out between his lips, as all he could hear were his own ears, pounding in time with his heart. Danger, the beats warned. Danger, danger, danger.

“I know what you need, Isaac. I know what you crave.” Salvador said, raising a long, slender finger to his ear and tapping. “I can hear your heart calling me.”

Isaac’s back bumped into the island that separated kitchen from living room and he let out a strangled cry. Wide-eyed and terrified, his voice cracking, Isaac mumbled in tones best meant for internal pondering, or poetry whispered into the ear of a lover, “How do you know my name?”

Salvador continued his slow advancement. “Oh, Isaac, I know so many things about you. All I had to do was open my mind.”

Isaac’s feet hit tile and he spun quickly, around the island, and into the kitchen, yanking open a drawer before his mind could quite grasp its own intention. A shift in air current, the rustle of fabric, but nothing Isaac could say he actually saw in the way of movement, and suddenly Salvador was right behind him. Hard, cold, rich in something that smelled both masculine and feral, Salvador’s arms encircled his body, hands on the counter, pressing against him in all kinds of wonderful ways.

“Stop!” Isaac whined. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“To give you what you need,” Salvador breathed against the shell of Isaac’s ear and the sensation made Isaac weak. “This love you speak of wanting, what is it Isaac? What do you want of it? The need? The craving? The contentment that comes from satisfying?”

Salvador dipped his head, sharp teeth raked against Isaac’s neck. Isaac struggled for breath. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t.”

Isaac had never felt anything quite like those teeth. They woke something in his belly that teetered him on the knife’s edge of mind-consuming desire and body-crippling terror. Was it possible… but, no, it couldn’t be. This was real life, downtown Manhattan – things… beings… like this… like that… didn’t happen. Didn’t exist. Fantasy creatures. “What are you?” Isaac asked, forcing the words up a dry throat.

“So many things,” Salvador whispered. “ The Bat, Hell’s Prince, Bloodsucker, Dracula, Vrykolakas, Strigoi, The Undead…”

“Vampire,” Isaac whispered.

“Ah, yes, and that one.”

Panic seized Isaac’s body, took over his fumbling hands and made him grab for the drawer, fingers searching, clumsily pressing aside everything in the space to find, God, who even knew? Something! Anything!

“Ah, you search for wood.” Salvador chuckled. “Such a fairy tale. Really, Isaac.” And suddenly Isaac was flung around, face to face with the beast, his back shoved harshly against counter ledge. Salvador reached around and withdrew a long, thick carving blade. “Anything will do,” he said, reaching for Isaac’s hand and pressing the handle of the knife into a sweaty palm. “You just have to make sure it is driven through my heart.”

Isaac gripped the handle, watching in fascination as Salvador slid the lapel of his jacket to the side. “Do you think you can, Isaac? Drive that through my heart? Slice open the undead organ that beats within me? Strike down the iniquity?”

“Or,” and Salvador pressed away the blade, “do you need more?” He turned the knife in Isaac’s hand, pressed his thumb against the middle knuckle of Isaac’s fist. “Ahh!” Salvador purred. “Looks like you have gone and cut yourself, lovely one.”

Isaac didn’t mean to watch but he couldn’t pull his eyes away as Salvador gently lifted Isaac’s fist and brought it to his mouth. Salvador breathed deep, eyes closing. “I do so love the smell of you, Isaac. Fear and spent sex – raw need and hormone.” Salvador looked up and caught Isaac’s eye. “I can smell him on you still.” And then a tongue as red as any hybrid rose snaked out and lasciviously wrapped around the seeping wound.

Waves of bliss washed through Isaac’s mind. Salvador hummed against his skin. “I can give you what you really want, Isaac. No one needs you more than I do right now. No person, no being, no thing wants you more than I. I can fill you with so much emotion, everything you crave. Fulfillment, purpose,” he paused to suckle the wound and Isaac groaned. “I can bring you peace.”

Every nerve in Isaac’s body danced in a sensual writhe of ecstasy. His blood raced, his cock filled, his fingers scrabbled on dark velvet. Salvador’s voice became a love song, droned into his ear, pinging through his mind, “Bare your neck to me, Isaac. And I will grant you peace.”

Isaac’s head fell back, rolled to the right, and he didn’t need to speak his consent for Salvador to hear it. Teeth met flesh in an agonizing pierce that quickly gave way to a unfathomable heat. Isaac moaned into air, his fingers seeking shelter within the dark locks that teased his cheek. He wanted to praise the feelings that were causing his body to strain and weep, wanted to groan Salvador’s name and offer not only his body and his blood, but also his heart and his soul. The very act of speech however, failed him.

Soft sips became strong pulls; Isaac could feel the strength leeching from his limbs. Had Salvador not been holding him against the counter he would surely have swooned. And yet, as the weakness descended, so too did his cock grow stronger, aching in its confines, desperately searching for completion. Seconds? Minutes? Surely no longer – and orgasm hit Isaac so hard his entire body flinched and an animalistic grunt of air left his throat. Hot release shot into clothing, dampened fabric and slicked skin – and Isaac didn’t care one damn bit. The only thing he heard or felt at that moment was his own waves of pleasure and the delighted sighs of Salvador against his pulsing wound.

Fireflies began to light behind half-lidded vision.


Edges liquefied before disappearing altogether.


His body no longer felt like it was sagging from exhaustion, but that it had become so light it was unfettered.


He didn’t feel his fists fall from Salvador’s hair and clunk sharply against the front of the counters. Instead he lifted his head in the balmy, supple clouds that entwined around him and spied a pinprick of light in the distance. A song called him forward and he followed it, captivated, as the light began to grow.


Salvador lifted him – a rag-doll, a faded flower drooping over its vase – and carried Isaac to his bed. He laid the body on its back, assembled limbs and pressed hair from the sweaty, pale forehead. Isaac’s face was beautiful, flawless in the mask of bliss, still half-lidded, so content.

He reached up and pressed Isaac’s eyelids closed. And, not for the first time, and no doubt not for the last, he wondered what it would be like to lie alongside the body and just wait for the sunlight to consume him. For one tiny moment he would allow himself the luxury of grief. Of guilt. Of self-hatred.

Salvador sighed and extracted himself from the bed. The wounds on the pretty dead man were already gone. Heart failure they would say, although no one would know why Isaac’s blood pressure had dropped so low as to force his heart to stop pumping the vital liquid throughout the necessary organs. Perhaps they would investigate the man who had left his stink on Isaac’s skin. Perhaps they wouldn’t. Isaac’s friends would gather, drink, lament the fact that the man had, quite literally, died of a broken heart. They all did – in this rite that Salvador enacted – his one way to justify that which he did for existence.

“Find your peace in the next life, Isaac.”

He looked to the window. Dawn was hours away but he had miles to go to return to safety. He paused only once at the door and looked back. These humans, he thought. They thought they knew loneliness. They had no clue what it was to be alone.

They had no clue what it was to suffer.

A flap of fabric, a rush of breeze, and the only left to mark Salvador’s existence was the open sliding door and the smile on the corpse.

The End

Copyright © 2011 AF Henley

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