Chapter Three
By midnight, Misha's home had been restored to some semblance of order, familiar and comfortable furniture dragged back from the edges of the rooms to resume prior, functional places. The volunteers helped in this task, and those who could stay, were invited to remain for the after party. In the end, the crowd that had come to celebrate Trey's birthday party dwindled to a more managable group, consisting of Misha's friends. Trey knew them, might even say he was fond of them, but his attention focused to a narrow bean of interest on one person, his gaze glued to Lane as he moseyed in from the kitchen with a pair of matching red plastic cups in each hand.
Trey left the entertaining, the gracious hospitality, to his best friend. It was Misha's home, after all, and even with a light buzz from the earlier drinks, he was nearing the limits of sociability. She held court nearby, sitting on the floor between Brandon's knees, her back pressed to the chair and her arms snaking around the youth's calves. It was a position mimicked by the three other pairs of couples in one form or another.
Bobby Hastings and Angela McIntyre were on the floor nearby, with Bobby on his back, his head in her lap. Cody Liszt and Leia Sharpton were wrapped up in a tangle of teen bodies, the smaller Leia sheltering against him and fitting snuggly between his legs. Joshua Coons and Margerie beck, dating since middle school and already engaged, sprawled out together on the sofa.
In his private little space, sitting on the hearthstone between Misha's position and the couch, Trey would have liked nothing more than to cuddle against Lane. He instead accepted the youth's arm wrapping around one leg when he returned to his spot on the floor in front of the fire place. The two of them were definitely the elephant in the room, and the conversation was steering dangerously close to calling attention to the preponderance of evidence stacking up around them; the subtle brush of Lane's fingers on Trey's leg and the not so subtle press of his lips to Trey's knee on his return.
He handed Trey a beverage, the alcoholic fumes punching him in the face before the cup touched his lips. Far less potent drinks fizzed and bubbled and fizzed near the others, occasionally sipped at during breaks in the conversation. Now that the adults were gone, Misha's Aunt Cara's rules about drinking were in full force: keep it inside, don't mention it to anyone, and watch out for each other. Cara herself had retreated to her workshop, leaving the liquor cabinet open, and the house to her neice's guests.
"And so," Misha said to the group, "we were standing there in line, and he just kinda blurted it out at me. It was adorable, actually," she added, reclining her head to smile up at Brandon. The boy leaned over her in response, giving her a delicate kiss that had them all making cutsey noises of appreciation.
Lane took Trey by the hand and lifted his arm around his shoulders, holding it there by weaving their fingers together. Since leaving the secluded privacy of the alcove in the woods, the gesture was his most overt display of affection yet, bringing a warm rush of scarlet to Trey's cheeks. Were they anywhere else, he would have disentangled himself at once. Except, they had been somewhere else, a very public somewhere else in the school, and he had done no such thing.
"What about you two," the giant Cody inquired, leaning against the smaller Leia wrapped up in his arms as he looked to Lane and Trey. "First day at school and you've already found a boyfriend. That's pretty fast work, dude."
Lane gave Trey's leg an affectionate bump with his shoulder. "I know what I like," he answered plainly. "But technically, we're not together yet, since neither of us has asked the other out. Which reminds me..." He hoisted himself off of the ground, sliding backwards into the remaining space on the flagstone to sit alongside Trey, turning toward him. "You wanna go out?"
Trey paused in mid sip, his eyes darting to the faces of the group, all of them looking back at him expectantly. It was just as bad as getting called to the front of the class with a hard-on making a tent in the front of his pants and having no notebook to keep it out of view. His sip turned into a full drink, the concoction of several different types of spirits mixed with a soda pop of undetermined flavor burning his throat as it went down. One swallow turned to two, and then three, and by the fourth, his tastebuds gave up altogether. After that, it was easier to ignore the panicked warnings blaring alarms in his head to slow down, and he tipped the last droplets into his open lips. It wasn't a notebook, but it distracted everyone long enough to cover his moment of hesitation.
"Damn!" Misha said, looking at him with wide and shocked eyes that glinted with being impressed nonetheless.
He laughed, a fine gloss fitting into place over his vision, making everything and everyone he saw, just too pretty. "Sure," he said at last to Lane, the part of him that worried about people gossiping behind his back taking a cozy nap on a rumsoaked mattress near the back of his brain. It woke up again, bleary eyed and quite intoxicated, when he let out a long, vibrating belch that, in his opinion, deserved an honorable mention in the record books. Differences in gender slid away under the laughter and praise he received for such a spectacular display; they were just a bunch of teens at that moment, and bodily functions were as hillarious as they had been in grade school.
Lane bent toward him, fitting his lips over Trey's mouth and claiming the cup from his grasp. A rolling, "Aww," reverberated in the air, and he felt Lane smile, the pressure of the kiss quivering along the edge. Warm embers passed between the point of contact, gliding down Trey's chest and torso, settling in the root of his groin. He titled his head to the side, lips parting, tongue welcoming Lane in for a deeper kiss that paid no heed to the eight other sets of eyes witnessing the exchange. The empty cup slipped from Lane's hand, his arms dipping to Trey's hips, fingers latching onto his belt loops. Trey shifted his weight, preparing to slide onto Lane's lap; to turn a simple kiss into a full on make out session. That was when Lane broke the link between their tongues, his breath hot, his face drawn into a mask of need and pain. The premature ending had been a gentle rebuke, reminding Trey that they were not alone.
It wasn't fair! The others could make out in full view of one another without it being a big deal. There was promise in Lane's eyes though; the admonition to wait coupling with a solemn vow of greater rewards later. He thought of the guest room upstairs, the bed itching to take their two bodies into its embrace while the walls slanted to listen in on every moan and stifled cry.
Lane reached behind himself, pressed his untouched beverage into Trey's hands.
"Hey," Brandon said, "you heading back into the kitchen?"
Lane sent Trey a significant look, silently directing his attention toward Lane's lap. The front of his jeans twitched, and when Trey looked up again, he found the youth's eyebrows and lips quirked into a sexy combination of delight. Trey blushed, realizing the youth's gaze had zeroed in on he is own crotch, waiting for an answer. He sent a couple of pulses through his member, Lane's eyes lighting with desire.
"Maybe in a minute," Lane replied to Brandon's inquiry.
"I'll go. I gotta use the bathroom anyway," Bobby said, sitting up and stealing a quick kiss from Angela. He stood.
"First door to the right inside the kitchen," Misha directed. The full bath upstairs, between her room and the guest room, was nicer, roomier, and in a constant state of disaster.
Bobby started collecting cups and taking orders, then drifted from the room. Meanwhile, on the couch, Joshua let out a yawn, squeezing his fiance closer. Margerie looked over her shoulder at him, nodded. "Okay, time for us to go," she announced, rising to her feet. She held out her arms to help the youth up, and they made their goodbyes when Bobby returned with refreshed drinks. Cody and Lisa followed not long after, with Lisa taking the keys from her unsteady boyfriend. Bobby and Angela, who had both been drinking, would be spending the night on an air mattress made up and waiting in front of the television.
Thinking the party was finally drawing down; that he and Lane could get away and spend some intimate, private time together, Trey allowed himself a small breath of relief. It had been a good birthday after all, but he was more than ready to get it done and over with. Saturday loomed large and full of promise ahead of him, as did the undeniable fact that he was noS dating someone.
He was now dating someone.
That took a little longer than it should have to sink in fully. He could blame it on the liquor that swirled around his head and which was making it more difficult to keep himself in a steady, erect position on the heartstone. Really, though, he had never though that he would be dating anyone while he was still in high school College, if he went to it, was a possibility. Certainly, he never thought he would find omsone in his own home town to get together with. Especially someone as cute, sexy and just damned squeezable as Lane!
The young man to his side linked their fingers together, lifting Trey's hand to his lips. He nodded toward the recently vacated sofa. "Wanna sit somewhere more comfortable?" he asked, already rising to his feet with his red plastic cup in his hand. Trey considered the offer for less than instant before agreeing to it, snatching his beverage and following along behind Lane as he crossed the brief distance between the flagstone in front of the fire place and the much softer, much more welcoming cushions of the long sofa.
Lane took both of the cups and settled them onto a table nearby. He lowered himself onto the couch, laid lengthwise and pressed his back against the bracing board. With a siggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, he gave the space on the cushions in front of him a pat, applying the toe of one shoe to the heel of another to kick the first piece of fotware off. The second followed as Trey sat, bending at the waist to untie his laces.
The conversation carried on without them, the topic drawing none of Trey's interest as he laid on his side, pressing his back to Lane's chest. The youth wrapped his arms around him, letting Trey use one well toned bicep as a pillow, the other skating over his hip, the hand reaching all the way to his navel before it stopped. A snugger, more secure spooning position Trey had never known, each point of contact between their bodies a bright spot of cozy awareness. He could fall asleep like that, wrapped up in the warmth from Lane's body that covered him like a blanket. There were a lot of things he wanted to do that were only remotely related to sleeping, though; skin aching to feel the youth's naked flesh on his own, to feel his stuble and the fine hairs on his body reaching out to touch him.
Misha looked over at the two of them, eyes alight, her smile broad. "You know, that's the first time I've seen you cuddle." She lifted her gaze to Lane. "I always wondered what it would be like."
"You're definitely missing out," the youth murmured behind him, the tip of his nose dipping to the back of Trey's neck to nuzzle, and take a deep whiff of his scent. "But your loss is my gain," he continued a moment later.
Trey blinked. Not only was it the first time she had seen him cuddle, it was also the first time he had done so in the presence of others. With all of the snuggling going around the room at that moment, he fit right into the environment for what felt like the first time in his life. What was even more amazing was that he felt no hesitation in continuing to remain in his position, not at all self conscious about the people who were around him, or what they might say about what he was doing. But when the time came to stop which, he knew it must eventually, it would be real struggle to separate himself from his new boyfriend.
* * *
Cara opened her eyes, the image of Misha and her friends in the house fading to a distant place in the back of her memories. Though they were all technically adults, she still felt responsible for them, especially Trey. He was vulnerable, had always been a little more on the side of danger than Cara liked to see in her neice's friends. He walked a fine line that day and night, his aura a tangled web of colors and textures that were the first stirrings of love.
Movement beyond the workshop door, a subtle stirring of power lurking in the darkness, entered into her awareness. The presence was familiar, though. Dangerous, yes, but not beyond her abilities to handle. She flicked a thought toward the door from her place of meditation, and it swung inward, complaining on its hinges.
The sherrif stood at the barrier, fist poised to knock. A courteous gesture that was appreciated but unnecessary. She had been expecting him after all, had seen him rush from his office with barely contained rage bubbling underneath the surface of his sedate exterior. He wasn't mad at her, she knew, expect in a peripheral way.
"You let him into your home?" the man asked, and then crinkled his nose. "What is that repulsive scent you're brewing in your cauldron, Witch?"
Cara grinned. Blending the repellant into something as complex as the cologne she had made for Trey had taken skill, cunning, and just a little luck. The Argent boy had let his gaze linger on Trey's neck one too many times, and she would rather feed her soul to the Void than allow her neice to lose a friend to vampires!
"My newest creation," she replied, streching out her legs before her and leaning back. Her joints gave an untidy creak at the movement, the twinge of artheritic knees and an aging spine the few concessions she would make to the steady march of time. "And yes, I allowed him into my home, Peter. Which, consequently, is none of your business."
"None of my..." He took a step, and the warding hex sign painted above the threshold luminesced in an electric blue warning. The barrier in place caught him on the tip of the boot, the wind picking up around him. He quickly cancelled his approach.
The real magic of the legal emblam he wore gave him the authority to enter homes without permission, and the ward was Cara's solution to that little problem. It pleased her to see it functioning so well, and she reminded herself to thank the spirit that had given her the formula for creating it.
"Do you have any idea of the sort of havoc he could create with..." he paused, lifting his nose to the air and sniffing, "...with five horny teenagers nearby?"
Cara shrugged. "You let him into the town in the first place," she answered. "Whatever happens falls on your head, Peter, not mine. Besides, he's been nothing but cordial and polite since he got here."
Peter's calm exterior gave way to an open expression of shock, looking at her with the sort of look the sane gave to the insane. "He glamoured, or bespelled, or whatever their kind do, one of the office workers at the school. He used his powers all over the building so that now, every student and every teacher there smells like a Thrall. And then, he summoned that... creature he calls a Mother. My boys are lucky they made it out alive!"
"Typical vampire prejudice," Cara spat back at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a human, Peter. Now calm down and use that so called superior intelligence of yours for a minute. Of course he got a lot of attention at school: he's the new kid, he's an attractive boy, and he started classes on a Friday to boot."
She floated from the ground onto her feet, crossing the room to stand in the doorway. "The rest is all hearsay," she continued, injecting her voice with the patience that eluded the rest of her. "And not completely believeable hearsay at that. The kid is missing part of himself, Peter, and what abilities he does have are extremely limited. I doubt he'd be able to affect as many people as you're claiming. Not in his current state, anyway."
The sheriff shook his head, arms crossing his chest. In a flash of vision, she saw the eons wearing the man like a shroud, aging him in her eyes. She heard gutter Latin in his past, the marching drills of Roman sandals a drumbeat that he could never fully shake off. Her hands felt thick with the blood he had shed in the names of countless others; knew the elation that come over him when the Argents cast their lot with the Hemophage all those years ago. An involuntary shiver rippled up his spine, and she pulled back from the man's past, focusing on who and what he was in the present.
"I shouldn't have let him into Eagle Lake, not this close to Hallows. I want him gone. Tonight," he said.
It sounded like an excellent idea, but a deeply rooted instinct warned her away from embracing it, throwing up an image of Trey standing forehead to forehead with lane while a red, black, and white cord bound them together. One of her more symbolic insights, she thought.
"That's not going to happen," Cara said. "And I would advise against it. If you interfere with what he's here for, his Mother will involve her self. He's the first child she's born in living history."
Peter Argent scoffed. "And how do you know all of this?"
"Magic," she answered simply. "Just let him be."
"Easy enough for you to say," he answered back. "You don't have to live the consequences. He endangers every human he comes into contact with, including your neice."
Each piece of furniture in the workshop lifted from the ground and then thudded back into place, glass bottles rattling and metal basins clinking. "Hear me now, vampire," Cara intoned, a streak of lightning flashing the clear sky above them. "If any of you touches my niece, I will unleash upon you and every vampire I meet thereafter a reckoning from which the only shelter you may find is in your nightmares!" She reigned herself in with a breath, but the Oath hung in the air like a sizzling cloud of smoke.
The vampire actually retreated a step, gulping. He lifted his hands in acquiesence. "Okay, okay," he said, "no need to get dramatic."
She pointed a finger at him, and though the power of the oath had left her voice, her words carried authority, and the man winced. "Do not forget yourself, Sheriff. You are a guest here. The spirit of this land can withdraw its agreement with your Hemophage as it sees fit, and I can make sure it sees fit. I will take responsibility for the Incubus. You keep your brood in their place."
With that, she took the door in her hand, slamming it shut. Rebuked, the vampire disappeared into the night. He had provoked her on purpose! She realized that now, when there was no way to take back the promise. It was better this way though, she told herself. Peter had been a fool for thinking he could handle the responsibility of the Incubus; he could barely keep up with his own son and his son's creations.
The susurration of a serpent's hiss slithered from the shadows. Cara whipped around, eyes darting among the wards and finding them all unactivated and undisturbed by the woman that took form in the darkness. She reeked of ancient power, had stood in the presence of the Mighty Ones, and touched the Source Itself. Cara lowered her eyes, her womb clenching with forgotten potential, with the memories of every lover she had ever taken into herself. Witches, like Cara, like Misha would one day be, harborned no love for such entities, but neither were they foolish enough to disrespect them. To do so would be like walking into a volcano, or stepping off a cliff and tumbling for eternity into abscence.
"You speak for the..." The woman used a word that, by its intonation, disturbed the landscape, and yet slipped out of the mind a s acloud shadow passing the surface of a lake, "...of this place?"
She nodded, not mentioning the finer points of the agreement she had with the land. Speak for, no, but communicated with, absolutely.
"I do not wear this form well," the woman continued, "and I must go for a time. You will care for Lane?"
It was formatted like a question and spoken like a request, but there could be no denying the inflection of command in her tone, or of knowledge. She had heard both Cara's oath and her promise as they rippled in the ethers. Again, Cara nodded.
"Your payment?"
A thousand and one things raced through Cara's mind, but she shut them all down an instant later; all except for one. She let that image of it occupy her full attention, growing big and bright, filling every corner of her mind. The atmosphere shifted.
"Were that in my power to give you dear one," the woman said, her tone suddenly compassionate, motherly, "I would. But I am no goddess, and the dead have earned their rest."
Cara bit her lower lip, let out a soft sniffle. The image of her sister's face, of Misha's mother, faded. It fell to the old agreement then: a favor for a favor.
"Agreed," the woman said, picking it up from Cara's mind. "Tell Lane I..." she hesitated, the word she searched for no longer a part of her vocabulary, if it had ever been. Unable to fill in the blank, she let it stand empty, coiling back into the shadows, travelling in the darkness that existed between a star's death and eternity.
A pang of pity for the creature tugged at Cara's heart. That something created so long ago, imbued with such care and love could not herself feel it, was a tragedy. But all of those who came after the Mighty Ones, or so the legends went, were the same way. At least that deficiency had not been bred into their offspring. A world without love was nowhere Cara wanted to be.
* * *
At the edge of town, where the highway that cut a path through the forest met the road leading to the lake, Peter Argent stood sentry with his son, and his son's companions beside him. One of their Thralls had alerted them to the approaching vampire who, out of respect or fear, travelled at a human speed and on foot. He carried the scent of old blood mingling with new blood coursing through his veins though he, himself, was barely a few years older than Deacon.
Blonde, plae, he stopped just beyond Peter's reach. "The House of Drak pays its respects to the House of Argent," he said in greeting; a flawless ceremonial gesture carried out by his hands that identified the ages old signal between two vampire houses of noble lineage.
Peter abred his teeth. "The House of Argent accepts the House of Drake, honoring them as welcome guests," he replied. "Why do you come, child?"
"Just passing through," the other said. "I'll be making my way to the Rougelune estate in a few days time if, that is, you may permit me passage through your territory, and a small respite within it if possible."
The sheriff nodded. "You are welcome. Be advised that the humans here are protected, and we have an Incubus running around."
"I will be on my guard, sir." He advanced a pace, holding out his hand. "And I thank you for your hospitality. I am Zane, son of the Lady Cwenhild Drake.
Peter accepted the man's hand, giving his name and introducing his son and Deacon's creations. The son bore his mother's name with a high level of pride in his tone in spite of the fact that, in recent days, it had become anethema to polite vampire society. But the disagreement between the Roses and the Drakes didn't touch the Argents. He motioned toward the road that led to town and the youth passed him by with a smile and a nod.
Beside him, Deacon growled low in his throat, his nostrils flaring to take in Zane's strange scent. His creations grumbled, dancing from foot to foot behind him, their desire to attack as clear as the night sky above them.
"Knock it off," Peter scolded them. "Deacon, take your boys out for a hunt; burn off some of this energy. And don't come near the town until you're all ready to act civilized again."
The wind whipped up around the four of them as they departed at preternatural speeds, sinking into the forest. The deer would be making their way into the valley, and would make for excellent prey for the pent up youths.
* * *
The lights in the house were extinguished, a sole candle on the small, circular coffee table lit for ambiance. All six of them had moved to the floor, their features struck in sharpened, eerie relief by the hazy glow, couples leaning against one another for support. Neither Lane nor Trey had wanted to quit the couch; having the youth wrapped up in his arms, feeling the little movements of his body pressed against him, breathing in his scent, were all too pleasurable and too intoxicating to give up so quickly. Lane's acquiesence was done for Misha. Staying in her good graces was paramount and, even though he and Trey were no longer spooning, that didn't stop either of them from staying in contact. It did make for a more intimate setting though. Beyond the reach of the candlelight's ring, the shadows flickered and drapped themselves over nooks perfect for disappearing into. Misha's energy level was finally beginning to wane, and the companionable silence between bursts of conversation lengthened.
Trey shifted beneath his arm, stretching out his body to lie on his side and using lane's folded lap for a headrest. He smiled down to the youth, petting him from shoulder to wrist, each pass of his fingers brushing against Trey's bare hand giving Lane a flash of contact with his Darkling. The part of him that had attached itself to Trey swam in the inebriation that undulated through the youth, burning the liquor out of Trey's bloodstream, gathering the strength it needed to be reclaimed. Even now, he felt the way it changed the youth, and the way it was changing Lane himself. Once the bonding between them was complete, they would be inseprable. Trey would open up to him as a flower opens to the sun, and he would take him from this place with its misery and its vampires.
His companion rolled onto his back, his knees bending up to conceal the obvious growth in his jeans. Sexual potential clung to the air, blanketing them all with hot, heavy desire and stirring Lane's hunger, turning each passing minute into a fresh strugle against his urges. Removing himself completely from the situation was an option he had considered and rejected. He was not going to leave Trey.
The back door opened, the pressure change causing the candle to flicker and sputter. Bodies moved to separate themselves, easing the pressure against Lane's instincts. Misha quickly pulled her blouse down, Brandon's hands escaping at the last instant, though the arousal he had felt from massaging her chest hung in a guilty cloud over his head. Lying beneath the blanket on their air mattress, the other couple and whatever they had been doing were already concealed.
Misha's Aunt bypassed the stairs, entering the front room and taking in the scene. If she knew what she had walked in on, she gave no indication of it, her gaze searching out and then landing on Lane and Trey who, of them all, were the least suspicious couple of the group.
"You're a tall boy, Lane," she observed. "Can you help me reach something real quick?"
Every fiber of his being cried out in protest. Trey made the decision for him, sitting upright and giving his shoulder a nudge. Getting up without compromising himself, showing everyone in the room his stiff prick concealed behind his jeans, was an execution of well timed gymnastics done on the sly, pulling and pushing his member into a less obvious position. He still hadn't become accustomed to its new length or girth, just one of the changes his body was making to align with the information received from the Umbrae attached to Trey.
He followed behind her, squinting as the light in the mudroom burned his retinas. Cara reached behind him, closing the door. "We need to talk," she began, "and before you consider giving me some made up bullshit you concocted to fit in with the rest of us, be sure to understand that I know what you are, and I have a pretty good idea why you are here. So, that said, have you found what you lost?"
Lane's heart skipped a beat, an uncomfortable weight pressing against his chest, throat and face that brought vivid fire to his cheeks. He swallowed hard, his Adam's Apple forming a knot that threatened to choke him if he spoke, so he bit his lip instead, the sense of danger he had put behind him with his encounter with the Argent boy flaring back to life. Cara was no vampire though, else he would have sensed it. There was something about her, a too subtle power, a deeply rooted authority, that even in her presence was easy to dismiss.
She looked upon him with intense expectation in her dark eyes. He gave a rapid nod of his head, thrusting hands into his pockets and wishing she had not closed off the escape route back into the house.
Cara smiled then, and whatever power she had that lurked like a thief in the blackest of nights, retreated. "Good. Now that we've agreed not to tell lies, I'll tell you what the Sheriff told me, at least the part that I believe. You asserted your will over someone at the school. Why?"
The allegation had been crafted too well to be denied, though lying about it would be an exercise in futility. "I needed a locker that..." he paused. Not knowing what manner of being Cara was, he could not safely admit that he needed the locker next to Trey. The risk of losing his companion if anyone knew about it, carried too many dangers for them both. "...that was closer to the English department." A true answer that ommitted the motivation remained true none-the-less.
"That will be the only time you use your abilities in such a way," she said, hands on hip. "You've already disturbed the local vampire population, and it would be in everyone's best interests if you laid low. While you're under my care, you will behave yourself."
He frowned, eyebrows knitting together as he projected his confusion onto his face. His agreement was with the Sheriff. It wasn't exactly paternal; he was still on his own for most things, but the man had done what he could, getting him enrolled in the school and providing all of the necessary documents Lane had needed. Food, water, and a place to rest his head at night were easy to come by on his own.
"I made an arrangement with your Mother," Cara continued, answering the question written on his features. She pulled a set of keys from a mason jar on a shelf nearby, tossing them at him. "Those are to the apartment building I own on Main Street; the brownstone building between the Parker store and the opthamologist. Take 1-B, it's the one I keep for out of town guests. Sleeping in a tent in the woods will draw too much attention, especially with hunting season on its way."
He startled at both the offer and her knowledge of his living situation. Setting up camp in the forest abut the lake had been a good idea, at least in his opinion. He looked to the keys in his hand, the brass and silvery metals glinting in the light, and filled with a heavy burden. Nothing was free, and he sensed a caveat in the offer.
"I can't accept this," he said, finding his voice at last and holding out the keys for her to take back.
Cara folder her arms across her chest. "You will," she stated, the echoes of her promise to his Mother heavy in her words. "I can't stop people from making mistakes, but I would appreciate it if you avoided inviting too many of my neighbors into your bed."
He narrowed his eyes at that. The only person he was interested in bringing to his bed was currently in the front room, waiting for his return. Before his Darkling had gone wandering, that might have been a problem. Even the immature Incubus needed some form of sexual energy to sate his appetite, and there were, in every town, city and back woods village, someone always willing to give it up for an innocent looking teen. He pushed away the thoughts of his past, letting his arm drop back to his side, shoving the keys into his pocket.
"Thank you," he mumbled.
"You're welcome," she replied, reaching out her hand as if to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and then stopping herself at the last minute. "You best get back to the party. I'm sure Trey has pined enough for you by now. I'll make sure your belongings get to the apartment. It'll be ready for you tomorrow morning."
He agreed, leaving the mudroom behind and returning to the parlor. The candle had been extinguished, and the couple on the air mattress were busy getting comfortable under the blanket. Misha and Brandon greeted him at the threshold. Brandon's arms wrapped around her waist, his eyes smoldering with youthful lust.
"First door on the left, up the stairs," Misha whispered to Lane, the desire radiating from her skin like a miniature sun shedding heat. "have a good night," she added as they passed him by to mount the stairs. "And thank you again for doing this for Trey."
A zipper ripping open pierced the air, the sound coming from the direction of the air mattress. It was followed a moment later by the rustle of pants being shed. Lips pressed to lips in the darkness, a carnal sigh flying free to brush against Lane's ears, throbbed upon a voyueristic inclination that pulled at the darkness. Captured in a world all their own, Lane's continued presence didn't reach their awarness.
The back door opened and the closed again, while the soft complaint of a bed accepting two bodies came from a room upstairs, breaking the spell of the scene playing out before him. He turned away, shutting it out of his mind to climb the stairs and gently and as quietly as they would allow him. He came to the door that Misha had directed him to, finding it slightly adjar, with a deep restful breathing filling the space.
A hurricane lamp on the bedside table illuminated the room with a delicate, warm glow. The silk blend shirt that Trey had been wearing was a pile on the floor nearby, the first and only article of clothing he had managed to successfully remove, his bare torso calling to Lane's touch, begging to feel his caress. Lying on his back, the youth's jeans were open, splayed wide to reveal the dark briefs beneath, hands still gripping the sides as though he had been trying to get out of them when he passed out.
Closing the door behind him, Lane pulled off one sock, then the other, and popped open the button that kept his jeans in place. He crossed his arms before him, taking the edges of his tee shirt in hand and then tugging it up and over his head, shimmying out of his jeans a moment later to stand in the room adorned only by his boxer shorts. A floorboard creaked beneath him as he approached the bed, and Trey stirred to a low level of sleepy consciousness, enough to open heavily lidded eyes and smiling up at Lane. He soaked in the sight of the youth lying half- on, half- off of the bed, tracing the groove of his flesh that dipped between his abdominals, climbing up his midline to meet the rise of his chest. Pert, pink nipples stood erect, begging for a pass of Lane's tongue upon them.
He moved closer to the bed to stand between Trey's parted knees, bent forward at the waist, his hands supporting his upper body landing on either side of his companion's shoulders to hover over him in a quasi push- up that flexed his arm muscles. The temperature between them rose, their body heat mingling in the air, washing over Lane's nude skin to stoke his inner furnace. Though his groin pulsed, his member aching behind its prison of cotton, and his lips burning to taste each kissable measure of Trey's exposed and hidden flesh, Lane held himself back. This was the first time his companion had seen him disrobed, a critical point where imagination merged with reality, and he wanted Trey to drink in his fill, imprinting the sight of him into his long- term memory.
Trey's arms titled upward at the elbow, lifting at the shoulder to emphasize the cut of his deltoids beneath the skin, his hands reaching out to Lane's sides. The contact of bare touch merged the Incubus with his Darkling, skipping through the landscape that was Lane's body to encourage a delicate growth of dark body hair that fanned out at the chest, turned into a line moving down his torso, forming a trail dipping beneath his boxer shorts and pointing the way to his hard cock. Trey's desires whispered through lane's mind, the fantasy of his perfect mate imprinting itself upon him with a stunning amount of detail paid to action, motivation and emotion. He sought out support in his dream partner, encouragement and bravery. He wanted someone that could read the subtle cues of body language, knowing when to dominate Trey and when to let him be. The Darkling programmed everything Lane would need to be the match for Trey's vision, creating in Lane the space it would need to come back home to him. Which, much to Lane's disappointment, would not be that night.
Getting Trey drunk, lowering his resistance to the very obvious visual changes to Lane's body had been a necessary component, even as it carried the risk of a chaste night spent alongside him. Oh, the youth wanted him alright, burning with the need of sloppy, passionate fucking, but he would never forgive Lane for taking advantage of him either. That single condition, that Lane stay his hand for the time being, popped open the intimate bubble, shifting his response from the agressor to the caregiver. There was no rush, he reminded himself, feeling the loss of his Darkling more acutely than ever before. Trey wasn't going anywhere, and they had a long, sensual road ahead of them. The part of himself that overshadowed the youth was safe for now.
He dipped his face to Trey's wrapping him up in a delicate, virginal kiss. He sensed the youth's alarm, not in the kiss itself, but where it might lead, and let it end sooner than he would have liked, to lay atop him for a warm embrace instead. Trey hummed his satisfaction, circling arms and legs around the Incubus, tilting his head to one side and presenting his neck to Lane's mouth. He obliged the youth, a flutter of kisses following, passing from neck to chest, chest to abdomen, the last two landing heavily upon Trey's navel and the stretchy waistband of his briefs.
Crouched there between the youth's thigs, he lifted his gaze to meet Trey's communicating to him that, while he desired nothing more than to give him pleasure, he wouldn't do so until Trey was ready for it. He felt the tension relieve itself, the fear of unwanted sex twisting around the desire to give himself over to it melting away.
Grabbing the edge of the bed, Trey pulled himself into a seated position, and then lifted himself up to take his jeans down. With lane's help, they were able to complete the task in a short amount of time. While Lane switched off the bedside lamp, Trey slipped beneath the covers, claiming his side of the bed and laying on his side with his back turned to Lane, inviting him to snuggle against him.
Trey was asleep almost as soon as Lane curled an arm around him, weaving their fingerst together over his chest. Beneath the covers, the youth pushed his hips back against him, the cleft of his cloth covered ass fitting over Lane's crotch in the perfect, tantilizing symmetry of two puzzle pieces coming together. Lane let go a soft sigh, unable to stop the easy thrust that rubbed sensation over his cock, nuzzling the back of his companion's neck and delivering a delicate kiss to it. He felt the goosebumps prickle along the surface of Trey's skin, the gentle love that Lane gave to him reaching him even in his sleep.
Lane closed his eyes, settling into the bed, his arm working beneath the pillow to lift it into a more comfortable position. With Trey pressed so tightly against him, the level of contact between himself and the Umbrae pulsed, and the Hellsong reverberated in the echoing depths of his mind. His consciousness split, part of his awareness sinking into the Darkling inhabiting the youth, the other half anchored in his own body, picking up the arousing potency drifting through the walls and floor that separated them from the other couples. It sizzled along the thread linking him to his submerged specter, disturbing the peaceful blank sea between dreaming and waking. Trey mumbled in his sleep, a hint of pain rippling beneath his skin, and Lane forced himself to witdraw. Sharing space in Trey's night time visions would have to wait until they were away from the stimulated atmosphere that bled from the two other couples. Wholly within his own skul, he wandered into slumber, ambling with a lucidity unmatched by any other creature in existence toward his own dreams, aware that he was sleeping and letting it happen just the same.
That humans and the other races walking, or in some cases holding perfect still on the earth, could not control their dreams had always fascinated him. Then again, it made sense too; the dreams of an Incubus needed to be controlled, sometimes subdued and at other times encouraged to full, blooming growth. Their unconscious directed their form, and dreams became reality. Waking up as a wolf beside a human, or a panther beside a wolf, tended to confuse and endanger the sanity of everyone around him. Of course, without his Darkling, he was locked into the human form anyway.
The dream came over him in vivid detail, lacking the fuzzy edges that separated sleeping fantasy and solid reality. He stood in the center of a red cast room, his full body exposed to the humid air. Trey stood in front of him, their bellies touching. A pile of naked bodies writhed in orgiastic undulations on the floor around them, deep voiced groans and gutteral, breath catching sighs accompanying the rhythmic slapping of hips meeting hips, the squelching of cock driving into tender openings, the sucking pop of bodies lifting from one hole to enter another nearby. They were human all, men, women, and mixtures of the two sexes; those who mimicked the neutral hermpharoditic state of the Incubus race and those who were so fixed in their genders that they looked surprised when they came upon a pussy sharing real estate with a penis, or an adrogyn with neither form of sexual organs.
The scene had been pulled from his own memories and, on realizing this, it shivered, a truer to life vision shaping the moment. A shadow wrapped around some of the people, Lane's fellow offspring. While it was true that most prefered distance between themselves and other members of their race, there were occasions when they would gather together. Genders reassigned themselves to human binaries, but continued to shift among his brethren. An Incubus driving himself into a human female one instant, became a Succubus that rode a human male the next. Blinded by the overshadowing cast upon them, the humans remained unconcerned with the transitions. Sexual preferences remained as fluid as the Incubi's genders, a man protesting his heterosexuality moaning with dark pleasure as his legs were lifted and a hard dick pushed into the tight ring between his ass cheeks.
Lane wrapped his companion up in his arms, holding him closer, struggling to place the exact time of the memory as a means of distracting himself from the aching in his loins. Even a dream not shared by his companion who, in the real world slept soundly nearby, could damage their relationship in the waking realm. Yet of all the Feasts, as these orgies were called, that Lane had bourne wittness to or participated in, this particular one eluded him.
The familiar susurrations of his Mother's hiss drew his attention to her serpantine form slithering over the moving bodies, coming to a halt between two humans joined at the crotch. She inserted herself between them, morphing from snake to a mostly human form in the span of a heartbeat. She pushed the human woman away from the man, sliding onto his cock in a reverse cowgirl position, and then reached between her legs, stroking her inhuman member to life. The woman was forced down upon it, the scent of burning flesh joining her pained whimper, the atmosphere turning dark. Around him, the sex turned violent, the full force of Lane's bretheren unfurling itself; males pushed deeper, females gripped harder, and Lane's body responded to the aura of power in a fit that could not be stayed coursing through his cock.
Death hovered around the room, the miasma of it penetrating the core of every human, their souls being, quite literally, fucked out of them, the last vestiges of sexual energy shedding from the surprised, disincarnate souls to join a cloud wrapping around his Mother and her two partners. And as each human died, Lane's fellow offspring touched the edge of necrophilia, emptying into humans with only a single breath left to them. Cocks vacated lifeless flesh, still hard and dripping; pussies expelled rigid members locked in death's rigor. Corpses, drained of living energy, warped to premature age, were cleared away. The man beneath his mother cried out, releasing his torrent of seed into her, and then fell back dead. His mother let go a very masculine grunt, and the poor woman into whom she spilled, clutched her stomach. It bulged beneath her hand, her womb filling with an unnatural pregnancy as she rolled away.
The scene dissolved, jumping forward to a different time that could have been months, or hours, away from the prior vision. He and Trey were as they had been before, naked and holding on to one another, while his Mother, a barely visible ghost in the corner of a hospital room, watched over the woman giving birth. The child born wasn't right, and one of the attending nurses had to run from the room to be sick, a mixure of poisonous sulfirc scented air mingling with the sight of the red skinned babe still covered with birthing goo. The cord was cut quickly, the babe given a startling smack on the rump to bring its loud, boisterous cry into the world.
That was when his Mother stepped completely frrom the shadows, holding out her arms for the child. It was placed into her hands without question, and she turned to the woman. "Your debt to me is repaid," she said, brushing a strand of sweat soaked hair from the woman's forehead. She hitched the babe closer to her chest, exposing a breast to its squalling mouth, where it suckled greedilly. The lights flickered, went out, and the hospital room decayed into nothingness, the void reverberating with his Mother's voice naming the child.
"Lane..."
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