Page 10 of Envious Of Fire
“You’re about to.”
Elias’s body turns to stone when Kyle bares his teeth, and upon his neck they find their favorite spot. It is behind the ear, always emitting a perfect, clean scent, the flesh feeling to the touch as strong and yet also as sensitive as Elias himself. And the moment blood is released, Elias lets out a whimper despite all his efforts to contain it.
It is a battle he never wins, much to Kyle’s delight.
Though the act is never quite painful to Elias, he can feel the puncturing of teeth into his skin, as well as the suction of Kyle’s mouth. Elias seems to experience pleasure in the pain—such a fine line it seems to be that separates the two.
And Kyle knows what Elias wants in every moment. This is what his unique gift does without effort now, indicating to him every shift in Elias’s emotion and cueing him when to ease off, when to go further. When Elias’s heart races, Kyle’s does, too. Every stroke of pleasure is twofold. Every pinch of pain as well. Kyle carefully weighs what Elias wants against what is best for him, ensuring no actual harm comes to his boyfriend.
Each second is a crucial judgment.
This is the reality every time the young men are intimate.
A consequence of playing with fire.
Elias grinds his hips into Kyle’s as he’s fed upon. With each thrust, the framed painting of the lion above their heads rattles. Elias’s fingers claw down the sides of Kyle’s body as his need for him becomes more urgent, catching the waistband of Kyle’s pants and tugging them down. Kyle’s appetite for sexual release competes with his thirst for blood when Elias’s hand slips inside his underwear and finds something far more satisfying to grip.
Kyle lets go of Elias’s neck, gives the punctured holes a lick to stop the bleeding, then moves to his lips for a kiss. He has come to learn over time that he, as Elias describes, is a “clean eater”, never a drop spilled nor dripping down his chin.
But for as skilled as they’ve become in not spilling blood, they have regrettably not yet mastered the ability to stop time. “Babe, I really gotta go …”
“Just call in tonight,” moans Elias. “They won’t miss you. What’ll Cade do? Fire you? Who the hell can she replace you with anyway? No one else exists in this tiny town.”
“There’s no end to you, is there?”
“What am I gonna do all night? I’m outta sunlight. Can’t work on the porch ‘til morning. Almost outta nails, too.”
Kyle kisses him again, grins. “You’re amazing, building me that big sun porch …”
“Can we still call it the sun porch when its whole purpose is toblockthe sun?” Elias tries to entice his lover again, plunging his lips into Kyle’s neck, then growling. “I would build a roof over the whole goddamned town for you if I could.”
It isn’t easy to let go of Elias, not after a statement like that, but after pulling away to put one last kiss on his firm, delicious lips, Kyle says, “Love you, babe, so much, but I really gotta go,” then slips out from between his boyfriend and the wall.
Elias frowns. “That was barely half a bite you just had.”
“Half a bite too much, apparently.” Kyle goes to change.
Elias drops onto the couch, sulking. “You do realize you’re leaving me here with blue balls,” he mumbles to himself.
“So jerk off a few times while I’m gone,” Kyle calls back all the way from the bedroom, having heard Elias perfectly thanks to his superior hearing. That has seemed to improve lately, too.
“It isn’t the same.”
Now in uniform, which is really just a black polo shirt and jeans, Kyle slips into the bathroom to do his hair. It’s a messy,brown situation that never goes in the direction he intends. He donates half a minute of time attempting to fix it before giving up entirely. He’s a bit overdue for a haircut, anyway.
Then he just stares at himself. Sullen, plain, mediocre eyes. Average nose, average lips, nothing remarkable.
His skin, which has gone so pale over the years due to the lack of sunlight for more than obvious reasons.
This is the same face he’s looked at for over twenty years. Was it roughly twenty years ago that he stopped aging? He was turned when he was eighteen years old, though he remembers exactly none of the process. He merely took the blond-haired, blue-eyed fiend named Tristan to his bed, in a complete frenzy, like something demonic had taken over.
Then his little brother Kaleb came to the door.
Uttered his name.
That’s the last thing Kyle remembers before waking to find his house turned into a bloodbath, his whole family dead.
“Mom. Dad. Kaleb,” recites Kyle into the mirror.
