Page 32 of Envious Of Fire
Kyle moves over Elias. “You mean this big ol’ thing?” he asks, taking hold of Elias’s cock. Elias sucks in air. “And these?” His other hand clutches Elias’s balls, squeezes. When he hears Elias grunt—and feels his heart leaping with a desperate hope for more—Kyle obliges, squeezing even harder. “Is this what you want so badly? You enjoy suffering?”
“Yeah, babe, I do, I really fucking do.”
Kyle finds it easy to fall into the role of a dominant lover, when his every action is coached silently by Elias’s emotions, and he knows how badly Elias craves it. It isn’t Kyle’s usual way of expressing love, but with knowing how much Elias wants it and feeling his every wave of overwhelming pleasure when Kyle gives it, it isn’t difficult to enjoy.
Kyle brings his lips to Elias’s, one hand still gripping Elias below with unforgiving pressure. “I just realized how much I likemaking you moan. I think it’s my new favorite sound.”
“Then you’d better keep giving me reasons to make it.”
Kyle squeezes harder, thrilled by the way Elias provokes him, taking on the challenge. He finds himself drawn back in, as his lips drag down Elias’s chest and become affixed to one of his nipples—a known sensitive spot on his body. Kyle runs his tongue over it, causing the tip to harden. It feels like he’s licking his own nipple, the way Elias’s pleasure spills back into Kyle. He lingers there, mesmerized by the reverberating bursts of pleasure each time he licks, putting the pair of them in a trance of anticipation, with the constant threat of his strong grip on Elias’s balls, ready to stun him with the pressure of another firm, punishing squeeze.
Kyle bites. Elias responds with a whimper, body bucking.
The taste of Elias is always surprising, always not enough, tempting Kyle to abandon all control and drink his fill. What is his fill, exactly? How much is enough? Will he ever know?
Then comes the sound again.
Kyle lifts his head from Elias’s nipple, this time glancing at the bedroom window, covered by an off-white curtain.
A shadow quickly passes, unmistakable.
Kyle flies from the bed at once, sweeps the curtain out of the way, the blood of Elias’s nipple still fresh on his lips. He is quicker this time to cast his Reach out like a net, determined to find someone. But after ten frustrating seconds at the window, he is pained to sense nothing but the neighbor in the house next door, nothing but Elias on the bed behind him. Prickles of dark suspicion race up the back of his neck that have nothing to do with his Reach. Just like the alley behind the bar when he was with Leland. He knows he saw something.
“Kyle?” calls Elias from the bed, confused.
“Sorry.” His gaze lingers in the backyard for a while longer before turning back to the bed. “Thought I saw—”
He stops.
Someone stands at the bedroom door.
Something.
Very tall, maybe eight feet. Completely naked, with skin that is absolutely, alarmingly white, smooth in places, chalky and rough in others, like white clay and porcelain, with only the slightest reprieve from the whiteness at his thin, pale, pinkish lips. Long, straight, jet black hair running down either side of his gaunt face, over his broad shoulders, to his slender waist, the texture appearing more like wire than human hair. His eyes are needles of smoky grey, eyelashes barely visible, eyebrows thin and straight. There is very little muscular definition to his body, chest flat, nearly concave, his arms reedy and long.
He stands there perfectly motionless, as if painted against the bedroom door at his back, which is still closed. Did it ever open? Did he teleport in here, or enter so quietly, neither Elias nor Kyle noticed?
“Uh, Kyle?” asks Elias again, still bound to the bed, limbs stretched as far as limbs go, clueless.
“Elias, don’t move.”
Elias turns his head to the left, to the right. “That a joke?”
The very second Kyle makes a move for the bed, the figure appears at the end of it without seeming to have taken a single step. With a cold, detached expression, he stares down at Elias’s completely exposed body.
And his nipple, which still bleeds.
“Who are you?” demands Kyle, though for as confident as he tries to be, his voice is swallowed in a pool of dread.
It’s only now Elias stirs. “Wait, what? Someone’s there?”
From the figure, Kyle senses absolutely nothing at all with his Reach, as if he doesn’t exist, made of literally nothing, not even air, a complete vacuum. “Who are you?” Kyle repeats, harder.
It is with clarity and an unexpectedly deep, masculine tone that the figure answers: “Lazarus.”
Kyle watches Lazarus stare at the beads of blood gleaming where Elias was bitten. Lazarus doesn’t seem the least concerned with the human on the bed, only the blood, nothing else in the room existing, not even the air within it.
Kyle can’t help the panic bubbling up inside of him. It’s compounded now with Elias’s, who starts tugging with distress on his restraints, shouting, “Kyle?? The fuck’s going on? Who’s there? C’mon, you’re freaking me out.” But the restraints still have no give—just as he so helpfully requested when he was in the mood. It’s safe to say he is no longer in that mood.
