Page 17 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

It was always a rewarding, heightened experience for the god to channel his power through a medium, be it a talisman, a weapon, or an art form. In tonight’s case, a dance. The element of stripping had truly focused and amplified his energy; the erotic sensations felt by all were immensely pleasurable, though nearly overwhelming at times for him. If he attempted this type of performance again, hewould need to be better prepared for the audience’s immense sexual output so it would not feel like psychic feedback.

Corey gave Christian a more intense once-over than he had done at the club, gauging his features more appreciatively now. The moonlight deliciously accentuated the man’s Eastern European features. Christian wore his lean swimmer’s build and shorter stature well; he was very sexy.

However, the young man’s clothes were too loose-fitting for Corey’s liking, hiding too much of his body. Though the god preferred skin-tight, sensual materials, the fashions he wore himself, nothing Christian had on subtracted from his attractiveness. His innocent face was breathtaking—more handsome now than when Corey first gazed upon it under the harsh lights of the strip club.

The moonlight illuminated Christian’s loveliness perfectly, practically French-kissing him. But Corey had no interest in kissing those full lips that looked as soft as rose petals. He wanted a sensual bite somewhere more intimate, inviting the crimson Nectar to fill his mouth and flow down his immortal throat.

The god’s thirst increased by the second.

Corey had to acknowledge the undeniably odd part connected to selecting this man tonight: Christian was not his typical prey, the burly, bearish, butch males who looked like him. This mortal’s lithe physique, high cheekbones, and the mischievous, playful glint in his eye were all so out of left field.

All this reminded Corey again that Christian bore similarities to Olympius.

Damn it, you sentimental fool! Blinded by this mortal! To choose him tonight! Did Fortuna direct this one to me? Or did she send me to that particular club tonight to encounter him? Why must I be perpetually tortured by this fucked-up love, even reminders of it?

Corey was no patsy to love, but he felt that if the enigmatic goddess was involved, who was he to question the deity of fortune and luck? She was even the goddess of fate, though she was not as powerful as the Weird Sisters in that regard. He knew it was a fool’s errand to attempt to deny the Wheel of Destiny. Fortuna had never manipulated a situation before. At least he never noticed blatant interference. And Corey reminded himself that his mortal was not Olympius, no matter his cursory likeness. He needed to move past this prejudiced interpretation and enjoy the mystery of his prey.

“Where will we—I—I mean, where do you want to go? I mean, did you have someplace in mind, Corey? And, uh, is anything even open at this hour besides Fran’s? Or were you thinking someplace more—ah, oh fuck, I’m so bad at this.”

Christian again spoke charmingly awkwardly, taking the god out of his pained thoughts. Corey knew the young man did not have a natural stutter; it was all nerves. He took that as a compliment. The mortal’s virginity, youth, and anxiousness were pleasing to the god, shining through his façade of maturity. It made Corey want him all the more.

He was so—pure? No, Corey did not think that was quite it. It was more like Christian was as yet uncorrupted by life. Considering his whereabouts that night, he was no babe in the woods, allinnocent and unknowing. He understood vices and the desires of the flesh but had yet to be overly exposed to them, becoming jaded.

He doesn’t know what I truly desire from him. The sexual, the lurid, it always makes mortals tense at some point. I must appear as this paragon of sexuality to him, a master to his acquiescence, a willing teacher to the unschooled pupil.

Corey would be all that tonight for Christian—all that and more.

But he did not love the mortal and would never show that through fakery as he did flirty seduction. Love was always absent with the prey and from the hunt and the feeding. It was survival instinct and physical pleasure only, never true intimacy. He had only ever felt that for one being, and he still felt it despite his ire, even after two millennia.

“Don’t be so nervous, handsome. I only wish to talk—for now. I know a quaint little place over on Queen St. West that's open until 4 a.m. I’d love to get acquainted if you’re not too tired.”

“No, I’m not tired! Not one bit.” With wild excitement spread across his face, Christian reached out to shake hands.

Corey clasped the mortal’s hand and met his lustful gaze with godly eyes that thirsted in kind. Christian smiled coyly, rather coquettishly. Corey could tell the man wanted to crumble into his arms but respected that he did not, not wanting to appear weak or lesser compared to him.

Despite his not-well-masked inexperience, he was a man, not a boy, and wished to appear assertive and virile; Corey liked thatbravado in the face of still apparent self-doubt. It showed he had courage and a backbone.

After he reclaimed his hand, Christian continued smiling impishly.

Corey noticed during the handshake that the man had rubbed an index finger against the material of his leather glove. He loved the sensation of mortal flesh massaging the leather barrier to his skin. It was a coded message that the god understood and received welcomingly: Christian wanted to feel, experience, and welcome desire. Corey appreciated the subtlety of such actions; he always caught their deeper meanings.

It was only a short walk to their destination.

Though only discover the Italian eatery a few years back, Corey loved it like an old friend. The Mediterranean ambiance was a small reminder of the homeland he loved but had betrayed him. It was self-flagellation, but it felt oddly comforting to the god. He often laughed at the thought that a therapist would have a field day with this pathos.

As this was the 21st century, Corey often came to this bistro with male prey and rarely had issues dining romantically with a same-sex partner. At least, the appearance of dining for him and the romance was simply an enjoyable indulgence, fabricated and fleeting. It was all a pale imitation of what he felt for Olympius but safer for his heart.

Admittedly, Corey relished the occasional mundane human’s negative attention, that not-so-subtle sneer as he walked to his table holding hands with his male companion.

And whether they acted with amusement or disgust, the god knew that the ridicule too often came from their own deep, hidden urges and fantasies brought to life in front of them. Things they were too afraid to indulge in. Yes, the envy of those who openly did what they feared to do.

Though he could control the intensity, Corey’s godly presence emanated from him majestically, without provocation, forever inducing varied sensations in mortals. Some engaged with the energy more viscerally than others. And his unapologetic sexuality and individualism occasionally unnerved mortals, especially the connoisseurs of intolerance and small-mindedness. It all seemed too absurd to the god: the mortal world’s hostility, fear, and ignorance.

So much had changed since Corey was a mortal General who led battalions in Rome thousands of years ago, but so much had stagnated, remaining unconquered, too. Like bigotry and indifference. And unfettered arrogance, a trait he knew Olympius was intimate with.

Entering the bistro, Corey summoned the maître d’ over. After a pleasant greeting, they were immediately seated at the god’s usual place, near the window to the front of the restaurant; it had the best street view. If people were already seated there, Corey would have swiftly dealt with that as he had done before. No one ever seemed too put out when they felt an incessant cold draft or took a solid dislike to their suddenly uncomfortable chairs, causing them to seek another table.

Christian sat down first, not waiting for Corey to pull his chair out, as it never crossed his mind that such a gesture would be expected. Corey had not forgotten that, in this age, chivalry was practically dead, and for him to do such an act for another man was still relatively uncommon. Whatever, he enjoyed doing it when he remembered to act quickly. Not this time, unfortunately.

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