Heaven Sent
A Channeling Morpheus Short
By Jordan Castillo Price
NOTICE:
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.
You are free:
to Share — to copy, distribute and transmit the work
Under the following conditions:
Attribution. You must attribute this work to Jordan Castillo Price (with link to www.jordancastilloprice.com).
No Derivative Works. You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
For any reuse or distribution, you must make clear to others the license terms of this work. The best way to do this is with a link to www.jordancastilloprice.com.
Any of the above conditions can be waived if you get permission from the copyright holder.
Nothing in this license impairs or restricts the author’s moral rights.
***
The Midwest is full of huge gaps where things once thrived, until the Interstate landed… somewhere else. Wild Bill and I were in Iowa, two hours from anything on a map with a name beside it, when we found this house. Someone had squatted in it, once. But Wild Bill said that was a long, long time ago.
His vampire senses tell him things like that. I keep my eyes and ears open, and I don’t ask too many questions. ‘Cos nothing shuts him down faster than asking him what being a vampire’s like. Except maybe the sunrise.
We squeezed ourselves into a little kid’s bed, because only that bedroom miraculously survived the warp and the rot that’s taken the rest of the house. Despite the fact that our feet hung off the bottom, and I was smashed into the wall, and Wild Bill’s arm dragged on the old rag rug -- despite all that, I’d slept soundly.
It was just before dusk when I woke. I pried myself out from between Bill and the wall, and scratched my stubble. I needed a shave, but no luck here. No electricity, no water. I fingered sleep and old eyeliner from the corner of my eye, pulled a strand of hair out of my mouth, and blinked. Cowboy sheets. What more could we want?
Wild Bill was still fast asleep. He tells me that what you see in the movies, about vamps being dead while the sun is high, is all a load of crap. He says he’s just a very deep sleeper.
I pressed my ear to his chest and listened to the slow, deep thrum of his heart. No, not dead. I straddled his thighs and shoved his old T-shirt up to his armpits so I could run my fingers over his perfect abs. Not dead, but sleeping for all he was worth.
I eased my way back on Bill’s legs so I could press my lips to his stomach. His skin was smooth and cool. He needed to feed, but not from me. One man’s bone marrow couldn’t manufacture enough blood to keep him fed, so he’d drink from a stranger, and follow it up with a chaser from me. Neither one of us was thrilled with this solution, but it was the best we could come up with.
I turned my head, and stroked Bill’s stomach with my cheek. My breath warmed his skin for a moment. Something shifted under my shoulder. Wild Bill might sleep deeply, but part of him was waking up early.
I settled my hand over his cock carefully, sure that it would startle him out of sleep. I think a human man would have given me some kind of reaction. Not that I’ve been with many, and not that I’ve actually spent the night with any of those few to test their reflexes.
Wild Bill’s face stayed exactly the same. Still. Pale. Cheekbones to die for, and a luscious mouth. And young. He looks so young when he’s asleep, maybe even my age, since when he’s sleeping, his face isn’t twisted up in its expression of perpetual sardonicism.
I stroked him through his jeans, and as I did, the girth and the shape of his cock pressed against the threadbare denim, more defined with each pass of my hand. I undid his fly and eased it open, and brushed a kiss just above his pubes. He didn’t move, and his slow breathing didn’t change.
Having Wild Bill’s eyes on me was a rush, don’t get me wrong. But it felt good to enjoy him without the worry, too. He always seems to think he’ll contaminate me with his vampire seed, and he’s always watching to see where I lick. I can tell when he’s ready to come; we’ve done this so many times I’ve lost count now. But he’s not himself unless he’s feeling apprehensive about something.
A quick tug, and his jeans were down around his thighs. He inhaled more deeply. Dusk was near.
I settled myself on Bill’s legs and lay my face beside his cock. I pressed it to my mouth and ran my tongue up the shaft. He was warmer there than on his stomach. Maybe I’d gotten his blood pumping a little faster.
I tongued the sensitive spot where his cockhead met his shaft. He’d freak if I took him in my mouth, all the way, with no condom. He would. It wasn’t worth risking it, and having him snipe at me all night because I’d snuck a little taste.
But I wanted to.
I inched lower, instead. I cupped his balls in my hand. They seemed so vulnerable. When I traced the shape of his left nut, his scrotum wrinkled up.
Bill sucked air.
I looked. His eyelids fluttered. Almost awake. But not quite.
By now, I was hard, too. I adjusted myself inside my jeans, settled back on Wild Bill’s thighs with my legs hanging off the bottom of the little kid’s bed and its cowboy sheets, and I tongued his balls, every bulge and fold.
Wild Bill made an indeterminate noise. Soft. Bemused, maybe. I looked up. His face was still. By now I was more off the bed than on it. I stood up and pulled off my jeans, then fished a condom out of the back pocket. It felt cool and slick as I rolled it on him. I swung a leg over Bill, reached behind me, and lined him up.
My cock jutted toward the ceiling as I eased myself onto him. It was tight, but that pressure, that burn -- that sensation was addictive, and I’d grown to crave the feel of his cock, thick and hard, fucking my ass ‘til I shot.
Slow, easy, inch by inch… finally, he was inside me. I held onto him by one hip and planted my other hand on the cowboy sheets. And still, Wild Bill’s face was placid and smooth.
I considered letting him dream on. I could even make a game of it, see if I could come before he opened his eyes. But no. I might be riding his cock, but what I wanted was him. Present. Awake.
His scuffed, battered leather jacket leaned against the bed. I snagged it, and pulled a safety pin from the lapel. I wasn’t sure how long that pin had lived there. Possibly as long as I’d walked this earth. But so what? My tetanus shot was up to date.
I jabbed the forefinger of my left hand. The safety pin was duller than I might have liked, but I didn’t flinch. The time for flinching was long past.
I dropped the safety pin on the floor and squeezed my finger until a dark bead of blood welled on the surface. Then I leaned forward, and stroked it over Wild Bill’s lips, just along the seam where they met.
His eyes shot open. The room was nearly dark, but I knew those eyes. Blue. Like the summer sky. He licked his lips, then gave a sigh that coursed through his whole body. And even though he hardly moved at all, suddenly he was so there, so present, that it was as if his spirit had entered him, all at once, in a great, heaving rush.
“So, I died and went to heaven,” he said. “Who’da thunk it?
I glanced up at the kitschy striped wallpaper, hanging from the plaster in curls, roped with spider webs. “You call this heaven?”
“Must be. My very own guardian angel anoints me with blood while I sleep.”
I offered Bill the pinprick. He grabbed my wrist in his iron grip and sucked my fingertip into his mouth. His abs rolled as he pressed his cock in deeper, and I felt the connection, even through that one tiny hole, where he drank from me. My cock throbbed with every suck, and my arousal spun high, fast and heady.
Bill sucked my finger so hard it stung, and a thread of heat zinged up my arm, down my spine, straight to my groin. My balls drew up, and I took a deep breath, focused on riding him, coaxing an orgasm from him so he could come inside me while I shot over his belly and chest.
One drop of blood shouldn’t have been enough. And yet, it was. In the way a single star can light the sky. Or a virus can wipe out a population. The tiny bead of blood -- and whatever Bill managed to suck out after it -- was enough.
I watched him until I could no longer bear to. The feeling was too intense, and all I could do was clutch up against it. And still, it washed over me. And I came.
My gasps were loud in the hollow, ruined room. Wild Bill yanked me forward while my body spasmed, pulled my mouth against his, and sighed a vampire sigh as he gave over to the pleasure, too.
My semen was sticky between us. His chest rose and fell -- with me draped over it, stupefied and useless like I always get when Wild Bill drinks me and pounds into me until I come and come and come.
A movement in my peripheral vision dragged me from my post-orgasmic high, and a I spotted a hairy, three-inch millipede wriggling its way out of a seam in the wallpaper. Right where I’d been sleeping. Sick.
I jabbed my thumbnail into it and felt its body crack. The front half fell away, dropping down the small gap between the bed and the wall. The back half remained, stuck to the wall, legs twitching.
Bill spoke into my hair. “Aptly named, Archangel Michael.”
I wiped my thumb on the cowboy sheets. “Right. I’m an angel.”
“Ever been to church? He’s the one with the massive sword, held high over his head.” His voice dropped, but I heard him anyway, forming the words in my hair. “The one just waiting for someone to sin.”
~end~
Find more about Michael and Wild Bill at www.ChannelingMorpheus.com
Discover more great m/m series, such as PsyCop, and Partners in Crime, at www.jordancastilloprice.com