Page 129 of Envious Of Fire
Locking in place, key and door.
But what does it open?
Markadian doesn’t kiss with tongue. Kaleb notices this first and lets him lead, their lips locked in a gentle dance of give andtake. Kaleb’s heart pounds uncomfortably, but it feels more like the fluttering of performance anxiety, not unlike what he might experience for his recital tonight. He wants to make sure he is kissing Markadian in just the right way. Satisfying enough. Soft and willing, yet strong and able to match him, in just the way he intuits Markadian wants.
Then the kiss deepens without warning.
Kaleb struggles to keep up as Markadian presses his lips firmer, his kisses turning into tiny attacks against his mouth, as the desire quickly takes him over, like a flame responding to a fresh tossing of wood. Bursting. Crackling.
Then Markadian bites.
Kaleb moans out in pain, tasting blood.
“You’re strong,” says Markadian, as if to remind him. “Oh, the taste … Can you taste what I taste? The joy in your blood? How it ripens with your excitement? How it smarts?”
Kaleb has no clue what Markadian’s talking about. He just keeps kissing Markadian between his words, though now, there is little way to ignore the metallic taste coating his tongue.
He’s now fighting back a gag response.
Fighting an instinct to back away, to push Markadian off of him, to spit the blood out.
As if in answer, Markadian’s feverish, rabid kissing turns into lapping at Kaleb’s mouth, alternating between licking up blood, kissing, moaning, then sucking up even more blood, as if Kaleb’s mouth has now become a fleshy chalice.
Markadian keeps stroking Kaleb’s cock.
The desire to come is no longer there.
But he’s still rock hard, Markadian pushing upon him, then whispering unintelligibly, licking his bleeding lip, kissing him, over and over, a dance that started beautiful, now descending into a madness of blood and passion.
The next second, it stops.
Kaleb’s eyes flap open.
Markadian hovers there, peering down at him, excitement in his eyes, as if the two of them were boys in their youth and just finished a game of tag in the playground, racing around and full of mud, out of breath.
Only it isn’t the playground mud spattered on Markadian’s mouth and cheeks. It’s blood—Kaleb’s.
Kaleb instinctively dabs his tongue at his bottom lip where he was bitten, realizes he’s no longer bleeding, already healed.
Markadian brushes his fingertips gently over Kaleb’s cheek again. “I’d better not wear you out,” he says. “You need all your strength for tonight.”
Again, is this a test? Is Markadian waiting for a right answer?
Kaleb’s lip stings. His cock is hard and exhausted and pent up from so much stimulation with no release. His muscles are starting to ache from being pinned to this bed for so long.
But Kaleb answers: “I’m strong.” He takes a breath. “I’m a man with deep resolve … and magnificent … fortitude.”
Markadian’s eyes spark with amazement. His own words served right back to him. Exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Then may I?” asks Markadian. “May I … kiss you again?”
The question feels quite different—now that Kaleb knows the precise way in which the Lord of Vegasyn likes to kiss.
There is only one right answer to that question.
“Yes,” says Kaleb.
The lips are upon his again. Soft and sweet at first. Caressing, like a lover. Explorative.
