Page 7 of Vampire Claus

A distinct combination of smells tickled his nose from the area of the futon. Besides Paul’s unique scent there were echoes of other men. Different colognes or bathing products. Latex, foil, something oily, and then…

Taviano turned away as he identified traces of semen. The turmoil in his chest that the evidence of Paul’s life produced disturbed him. If Taviano could blush, he would.

Paul finished with his boots and socks and tugged off his bloodied T-shirt. Tossing the garments in a heap on the floor, he strode to the sink. Dressed only in low-slung corduroys, he turned on the faucet and began to scrub away dried blood on his shoulder and palm.

Taviano took in the sight of lean muscle, flexing under pale skin as Paul washed. That skin reminded him of cream. A tattoo of a tree adorned Paul’s back. Its delicately drawn branches spread to his shoulders. The twisted and sturdy trunk disappeared into the mistletoe-themed boxers resting low on his hips. One side of the tree, near the top, showed a splintered stump, as if someone had wrenched off a branch.

Although curious about the imagery, Taviano wondered more how that inked skin would feel under his lips. Then he wonderedwhyhe wondered. His demon’s hunger for blood drove him for such long years. He’d all but forgotten what it was like to hunger for touch.

Year after year, he hunted with a singular purpose, among people useful to him only as food. Yet he found himself imagining what it would be like to draw Paul against his body. The warmth would be delicious. Soothing. It reminded Taviano of the difference betweenappetiteandattraction. He found the thought both sobering and exciting.

Twice, many decades ago, and before he began to hunt exclusively among villains, he’d given in to curiosity. He’d caressed a willing man with his sensitive fingertips, and even allowed him to stroke Taviano with lust. Both times, the sensation was too intense to be pleasurable. It had been like dragging woolen cloth over a sunburn.

Neither encounter had smelled like Paul, though. Would the taste of his skin be as unique as his scent? Would his body be warm and welcoming? Why should just one man out of the multitudes he’d encountered draw him so profoundly and calm his demon? If he touched Paul once, Taviano wasn’t sure he’d want to stop.

Paul turned from the sink to grab a hand towel and caught Taviano staring at him. Another tattoo, of a sun rising above a mountain range, sprawled down his left pectoral. He stilled but made no effort to cover his hair-dusted and spare torso.

Instead he stood silently as Taviano studied him. His eyes caressed the alabaster planes of Paul’s chest, the sinewy shoulders and elegantly tapered arms. He admired the tight skin at Paul’s stomach, the tracing of fine hair that disappeared down into his boxers. Paul began to breathe more heavily under the scrutiny and his pants tented outward. Taviano smelled arousal and it echoed in his own belly.

Finally, Paul swiped the cloth against his shoulder and dried his hands while holding Taviano’s eyes. He licked his lips and flushed. In a slightly hoarse voice, he asked, “Did I get it all?”

As if drawn by a magnet, Taviano stepped closer, hearing Paul’s heart beat faster at his approach. His body glistened in the dim light of the room. Taviano sensed no fear as he took another step and peered at Paul’s shoulder. He brushed trembling fingertips over clean white skin and murmured, “It looks perfect.”

Thankfully his face couldn’t blush and his heart couldn’t pound; he was sure he’d be a sight to behold otherwise. The desire to touch, to stroke, was difficult to hide, from Paul and from himself. Paul stood mere inches away. His coursing, rich blood generated warmth that called to Taviano. For once, it had nothing to do with his demon’s clamor for food.

The bloodbeast remained strangely quiet, drifting in his belly and mind, but asleep. With that awareness, Taviano finally had to admit that the yearning he felt was entirely his own.

Paul’s lips parted and his nostrils flared as he met Taviano’s gaze. His pupils were wide and black. Heat rose from his groin where he was hard and Taviano smelled precome leaking.

Just touch him.It isn’t like Naples. No one will punish us.

Yet he couldn’t move into the caress he wanted desperately.

Perhaps Paul saw the struggle in his eyes, or was simply less afraid. “You are seriously beautiful,” he whispered. He moved closer and tilted his head slightly. “Can I kiss you?” Taviano swallowed, then nodded sharply. Paul slid one hand up his waist and raised the other to curl around his neck. He gently tugged Taviano forward until their lips met.

The sweetness and warmth of Paul’s mouth threatened to undo him. He felt every minute crease in the cold-chapped lips, but the movement against his own was light and careful. He tensed for discomfort from the stroke of Paul’s hand over his skin or the press of his mouth. It never came. The gentleness with which Paul embraced him was a balm. Fingers combed through the hair at the base of Taviano’s neck before sliding to grip the back of his skull.

The boy Taviano had been still fretted in his memories. All the teachings of his youth had warned that his desires were shameful. His angry father had beaten that lesson into his back. Then, ever since he’d turned, his humanity had served only his demon. His body was merely a vessel to give it agency. His limbs had power in order to subdue prey. He hunted, cornered, grasped, pierced, and drank to keep it fed. He was a devil; if he ever yearned for the things he’d discovered with Calogero, their loss was necessary. It was only proper that he suffer.

Paul’s hands in his hair, though… The intimacy sent a shiver through Taviano. He’d missed so much over the long years. The world had changed, and what it forbade in his youth was common in the current era.

Common, perhaps, but still special.Drawing strength from Paul’s touch, Taviano resolved to fight his doubts and kissed back with growing passion. When Paul sighed with pleasure, his breath tasted of peppermint. Taviano smiled; Paul had licked one of the candy canes he bought for the shelter.

I’m actually doing this, he thought with wonder.Touching instead of taking. Kissing instead of drinking.

Doubt faded away. The feeling that replaced it, that bubbled through his chest, had been absent for so long he almost didn’t recognize it. He was happy.

Stirred by the unfamiliar emotion, he wrapped his arms securely around Paul. He was careful of the fragile body he held. Paul’s erection pressed against his hip, and Taviano permitted himself to strive for more connection.

A memory of explorations with Calogero occurred to him. He darted a lick across the seam of Paul’s mouth. Paul opened to let him inside, and a thrill ran through him all over again. Their tongues met and danced and explored. Paul was eager and passionate; the more Taviano responded, the higher he drove the embrace.

Their bodies moved together. The rustle of Taviano’s black shirt against bare skin sounded, to his vampire ears, like raven wings. Paul’s hard shaft pressing against him brought back other things that had been similarly forbidden. Maybe, he mused, they could go even further than kissing.

He splayed a hand on Paul’s bare back and traced lightly over the tree formed of ink, its texture guiding his sensitive fingers. Paul arched at the exploration; gooseflesh broke out under Taviano’s touch. Nipples hardened to firm points against Taviano’s chest as Paul deepened their kiss in response. He slid his tongue into Taviano’s mouth, tangling theirs together. And then his roving organ encountered an eyetooth–

Paul jerked his head away and held a hand against his mouth. The saucer eyes were back, and his heart became a jackhammer. “You aren’t a ninja, are you?” he demanded on a shaky exhale.

Oh no, please, not yet. Taviano should have known that discovery was inevitable, but still he wasn’t ready. The simple pleasure of conversing with a man, of exploring an attraction, ofkissing… He had no idea how much he’d longed for all that until Paul gave it to him, and then took it away. He wanted to weep suddenly, but instead he steeled against regret. What he desired was for the humans. He had no business there, no right to sully Paul with his devilish presence.

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