Crying for the Moon (23 page)

Cautiously, with Duncan close behind her, Tish approached and laid the back of her hand on Alex’s forehead. Her hand felt cool in comparison, and Alex closed his eyes briefly in relief.

“I think you’re running a fever. Probably as a reaction to being scratched by Peter. Honey, I don’t think you have a choice. You’d better go lie down in the coffin for a while.”

“I don’t want to lie in the coffin. I’m fine. I just need a nap, that’s all,” Alex said, vaguely aware that he sounded like a petulant child and wondering why he felt so weird. “I don’t want to be like Victor. What if someone kills me while I’m sleeping?”

“Aw, honey.” Tish’s voice was so full of heartbreak that Alex thought it might possibly choke off all his air. “We won’t let anyone hurt you. We’re all here for you, okay? We love you, baby.”

Alex let Tish and Duncan guide him up the stairs and into the locked room, aware on some level when Nick and a very worried Peter appeared on the periphery, but feeling too tired and lost to respond when they spoke to him. All he could hear was the overwhelming song of the coffin, calling him to come and accept its embrace and all it had to offer. It thrummed and pulsed all around him, causing his heartbeat to slow to match its tempo.

“Don’t let me stay in it too long,” he begged when strong hands assisted him with climbing in over the lip of the casket. “You’ll come and wake me, right?”

“You’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Tish’s face swam into his vision and the faces of all his friends suddenly sharpened into clear focus. He felt safe in a way that he never had when it had been just him and Victor. He sighed and fell backward into the coffin’s embrace, accepting the warm oblivion that it offered. He hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

Consciousness returned with a sharp pang when he awoke and realized that he was closed within the coffin. He pushed up on the lid, marveling as he always did at how easily the heavy lid moved under his touch. The room was nearly dark; outside the light was fading fast. The breeze from the open window was cool and wet and it shifted the sheer curtains playfully as he sat up in the coffin. The heat of hunger pulsed through his veins and throbbed in his groin. He needed to feed with a desperation that was almost overwhelming. Without thinking, he opened his mouth and emitted that ultrasonic burst of sound that would help him identify his prey.

The sound clearly illuminated someone sitting in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, someone waiting patiently, legs crossed at the ankles in front of him, willing Alex to acknowledge his presence.

“Tate?” Alex asked aloud. His voice sounded rusty to him, as though it had lain dormant for centuries.

“Alex,” Tate said from the darkness, his voice little more than a purr of acknowledgment.

Alex rose effortlessly with the sensation of floating that only time spent in the coffin could give. He glanced down at the bandaging on his arm. He’d dressed the night before in a tank top for better access to the wound; now he peeled away the bandaging and let it fall to the floor. His arm was clean and unmarked, as though he’d never been injured at all.

“Tate,” he said, turning unerringly toward the chair in the corner of the room, where the heat emanated off Tate. Alex heard the slight whisper of fabric shifting, and he smiled as he realized that Tate had spread his legs.

Alex moved deliberately toward him. The light from the rising moon was coming in the window; Alex could just make out the way Tate sprawled in invitation, waiting for Alex’s touch.

“I need to feed,” Alex said, his voice dark with hunger.

“I know,” Tate said. He stretched out his hand, offering it to Alex with his wrist turned upward and exposed. Alex felt his teeth lengthen even as a pulsing rhythm set up in his cock. He wanted this. He needed this so badly.

Without any hesitation, he glided toward the chair, covering Tate by sitting straddle-legged across his lap. He took Tate’s offered arm in his hand and brought Tate’s wrist to his lips, pausing only to take in the subtle smell of Tate’s warm, clean skin. He gently kissed Tate’s upturned wrist, sensing rather than hearing the soft release of Tate’s breath when his lips made contact. Alex began to slowly lick and suck Tate’s wrist. He pulled at the thin skin covering Tate’s wrist bones with his lips and pressed a smile into Tate’s flesh when he felt Tate shudder at his touch. He trailed his tongue up Tate’s palm, taking one of Tate’s fingers into his mouth to tease and suck before releasing it to nuzzle Tate’s wrist again. The pulsing beat of life beneath Tate’s skin set up a corresponding throb in his dick.

“Oh fuck, yeah,” Tate murmured.

Alex tore his gaze away from all that lovely skin. Tate was working his cock through his jeans and, when Alex glanced up at his face, the raw need was there for him to see.

“Take it, take it.” Tate pushed his wrist up into Alex’s hungry mouth.

Yes! Yes!
He closed his mouth over Tate’s wrist and bit down, sinking his fangs into that perfect flesh and shuddering when Tate cried out and pushed backward into the chair. He locked his lips onto Tate’s wrist, taking in that hot, bitter rush of blood with great sucking pulls. Tate cried out again and thrashed underneath him, but Alex pinned him down and continued to feed until Tate tensed and cried out again. This time he bucked and shuddered under Alex’s softening ministrations until he lay limp and unresisting beneath him.

When Alex released Tate’s hand, he thought for a moment that he’d gone too far, that he’d taken too much from Tate, unable to resist the temptation to revel in his blood until he had no more to give, simply because Alex had denied himself for so long. He was horribly relieved when he saw the glint of light reflected in Tate’s golden eyes as he opened them.

Tate smiled sleepily and then swarmed upward unexpectedly to kiss Alex thoroughly. When he leaned back, he was licking a smear of his own blood off his lips. “Nice,” he said. “I see why you like it.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” Alex said simply. He felt sated and complete and yet wanted nothing more than to do it again. Tate made him feel this way: as though it would take a thousand years or more to tire of this attraction.

“Oh, but you’re not done,” Tate said when Alex levered himself up off the chair. He reached over to the table beside the chair and switched on the lamp.

“I’m not?” Alex looked down at him in some confusion, blinking at the sudden brightness despite the fact that the lamp was small and cast only a warm pool of light around the chair.

Tate untied his boots and toed them off, stripping off socks as well and stuffing them into the boots. He rose to his feet easily and casually unbuttoned his jeans. Alex watched in fascination as Tate’s fingers pulled down the zipper to his fly and swallowed hard when he saw the dark swatch of auburn hair appear. Tate had gone commando.

Tate shimmied out of his jeans, letting them drop to the floor and stepping out of them. He tossed something in Alex’s direction; only Alex’s quick reflexes allowed him to catch it before it hit him in the chest.

It was a small bottle of lube.

Alex looked back at Tate, still wearing his shirt and sweater, slowly palming his cock. “You’re going to fuck me now. Against the coffin. Into the middle of next week.”

The sound of Tate’s husky voice telling Alex what to do caused him to drop his hand to his groin and cup his cock through his jeans. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Tate walked across to the coffin, the gleaming wood rich and warm in the light of the lamp. He placed both palms on the open lip and leaned over them, parking his legs wide apart and pushing out his ass in invitation. When he turned his head to look over his shoulder at Alex, his expression was feral with need. “Come on, Alex. Fuck me. Right here. Right now.”

Alex’s hands fumbled uncharacteristically at his fly. Tate’s chuckle went right through him on some visceral level, and when he looked over at him, Tate arched his lower back and presented his ass enticingly.

Alex would have shrugged out of his jeans but Tate stopped him. “No. Just like that. Just your cock hanging out.”

Alex closed the distance between them until he had his hands on Tate’s hip bones and his cock was nudging up Tate’s crack. He pushed the lube into his hip pocket to free both hands in order to pull Tate against him. “Fuck, Tate,” he growled.

“That’s the general idea.” Tate laughed, pushing his ass back against Alex. “Condoms are in my breast pocket.”

Alex had to fold himself over Tate to reach up under his sweater and find the breast pocket on his shirt. Fishing the condom out took a little finesse and some grinding up against Tate. He held the packet in his teeth as he tore it open, releasing Tate just long enough to roll the condom over his cock.

He tugged at the bottle of lube, struggling to free it from his pocket. Hastily, he lubed up his fingers and began tracing Tate’s hole. The bottle fell unnoticed to the floor.

“I don’t want slow and gentle.” Tate’s voice sounded dangerous and hungry as he braced his arms and thrust back against Alex. “I want your cock in me now. I want it up the ass hard while you’re biting me. Come on, Alex. Give it to me.”

Without a word, Alex used his lubed hand to coat his cock. With one hand on Tate’s shoulder, he held his cock steady and lined it up with Tate’s hole. He watched in concentrated fascination as the tip of his cock pushed at Tate’s opening. Carefully he began pushing in, gasping at the way Tate gripped him.

Tight. So tight.
He could feel Tate’s muscle clench around him before relaxing and letting him ease all the way in with one long, slow push. Tate shuddered underneath him and arched his back, leaning down on his hands once more. When Alex didn’t move, Tate began to rock a little against him. “Come on, Alex. I need you. I need this.”

Alex pulled out until just the head of his cock remained within and pushed back in again. Tate’s heartfelt groan told him it was the right move, and he started up a steady pumping rhythm. With each push in, he could feel his balls press into Tate’s ass. Tate groaned with every push forward, and the sound of his voice egged Alex on. He gripped down on Tate’s shoulder so hard that he suspected there would be a bruise even through the sweater. He began to pound in earnest, the age-old sound of skin against skin and the noises Tate made increasing his excitement. He shifted both hands to Tate’s hips so he could hang on and thrust at the same time.

One moment it seemed like he could keep going forever; the next, he was riding the wave of his orgasm as it crested and crashed over him. He stood still and shuddered, even as he felt Tate clench his asshole around him. He leaned forward until he could rest his forehead on Tate’s back; the rough, woolen sweater tickled his nose. He lay that way for a long moment, until his breathing slowed.

Still in that same position, he reached around underneath Tate and found his cock hard and aching with want, leaking at the tip. Tate gave a sharp intake of air when Alex took him in hand. He felt his own cock pulse deep within Tate as he began to pump Tate’s shaft.

It didn’t take long before he felt Tate shudder and warm fluid spurted over his hand. It was a deeply satisfying moment, knowing that he’d brought Tate to this point once more.

Tate leaned into his forearm and chuckled, which changed to a groan when Alex pulled out.

“You’re laughing again,” Alex complained. “You’re going to give me a complex.” He removed the condom and, not finding any place to dispose of it, let it fall to the floor before tucking himself back in.

Tate surprised him by turning to grab his hand, licking his own come off of Alex’s fingers with a sleepy-lidded smile that twisted something deep inside of Alex’s chest.

“I’m hungry,” Tate said with a prodigious yawn as he released Alex’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and go downstairs. I need something to eat.”

They dressed and took turns in the bathroom, appearing on the landing smelling more of soap and less of sex. Alex followed Tate down the stairs quietly. He was surprised that Tate could even walk and felt a small spurt of smug satisfaction when Tate reached out for the wall for support as he descended the stairs. They met Nick in the foyer.

“There you are,” he said, relief tingeing his voice. “I was just thinking about dinner.”

Tish entered the foyer from the living room with Duncan close behind. From the living room, Alex could hear the sound of some sporting event on the television.

“Yeah,” Duncan said. “What about dinner? We’re out of cow.”

“And ice cream.” Tish’s smile was highly amused as she took in Alex and Tate’s appearance. She tipped her head toward Nick and Duncan. “Peter’s taking a nap upstairs. Why don’t you boys come with me into town for some food?”

“Here.” Tate pulled a wad of papers out of his jeans pocket, teasing out a twenty-dollar bill from receipts and some crumpled-up Post-it notes he’d written to himself. “Let me contribute to some Chinese takeout.”

Nick looked at the offered twenty as though he’d never seen such a thing before. Slowly he accepted it from Tate’s hand. “No fair making me drool,” he said with a little glance at Tate. To Alex’s amusement, he licked his lips and swallowed hard. Tate just grinned.

“Beat it.” Tate made the appropriate gestures. “I’m starving, and you guys have emptied the house of all food, I’m sure. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll get back with the dinner. Be sure you bring back plenty of egg rolls and at least one order of General Tso’s Chicken.”

“I’ll call it in.” Tish had taken out her cell phone and headed toward the door, giving Duncan a sharp look in passing. He sighed and handed Alex the television remote. Nick gave a sketchy salute with a single finger over his shoulder as the pack left the house.

“Nothing says I can’t have a snack in the meantime.” Tate moved with purpose toward the kitchen. He opened the fridge, frowning at the meager contents as the light from within lit up his features.  “Didn’t you guys just go to the store yesterday?  How does Nick keep everyone fed?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alex tried not to let the worry sneak into his voice, but it was hard. Was it his imagination, or did Tate look paler than usual?