Shades of Moonlight

Author: Despina
Story title: Shades of Moonlight
Series/Original: Original
Word count: 5,388
Sexual content rating: NC 17 (sex and some disturbing images.)

Notes: Shades of Moonlight began it's life as a ghost story, but that didn't really pan out, so I peeled away the ghost part and it became the kind of horror story you are about to read. Thanks to imayb1 and jadeheart for their awesome beta skills, however, I did touch it last, so any mistakes belong to me.

Extra warning: There's no fluff here. There are three parts to this story. Part three is still in progress, but here is part one. Hope you like it.

Shades of Moonlight

Part 1


“Mickey.” Monique stood up from the table and hugged him. “I haven’t seen you in ages.” She put her hand to his cheek. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, ‘Nique. You saw me last week.” He said, returning her hug, his eyes traveling around the table and taking in the usual crowd. His eyes stayed on Dante a little longer than the others and he felt a familiar tug at his heart.

“It has been almost a month,” Monique said, sitting back down.

He pulled up an extra chair, thinking about it. “Really?”

“Since we helped you moved, you’ve disappeared on us.” Monique leaned forward. “What have you been up too?”

“I’ve been writing a lot, I guess time just got away from me.” Mick smiled. “I’ve been inspired since I moved.”

“Is it anything good?” Alex asked, picking up his drink.

“I think so,” Mick answered, reaching for the pitcher of beer and an empty glass.

Monique nudged his shoulder with her own, her eyes sparkling. “Is it because of Raoul?”

“Who’s Raoul?” Dante asked but he couldn’t sound more bored by the subject.

Alex sat up straight, full of curiosity. “A boyfriend?”

“Do tell.” Dante took a sip of his beer and stifled a yawn.

Mick sighed internally and not for the first time, he wondered why Dante bothered to come to their gatherings. Dante was stereotypically tall, dark and handsome but his disposition was dour. He’d witnessed a charming Dante, but only from a distance. Mick considered his own presence was cause for Dante’s surly nature. The dark haired, gray-eyed man just didn’t like Mick.

“Raoul is the poltergeist in Mickey’s new apartment.” Monique announced.

“For real?” Alex’s blue eyes widened.

“I don’t know if I’d refer to it as a poltergeist.” Mick smiled indulgently and then he shrugged. “Stuff gets moved around a lot. The windows and door open on their own. Things like that.”

Monique squeezed Mick’s arm. “Didn’t you also say some of your clothes had been rearranged?”

“Yes.” Mick placed his elbow on the table and placed his chin in his upraised hand. “Color coordinated. My dishes, too, they are arranged by size.”

Alex stared at him before he shuddered. “Creepy. Doesn’t that scare you?’

“Not really.” Mick chuckled. “The house I grew up in had a lot of mysteries also.”

“Mysteries?” Alex made a scornful noise and ran his hand through his blond hair. “You make it sound normal. There’s no way I could sleep in a place were things were moving around. But not you, you even named your ghost.”

“I thought the place felt sinister from the start.” Monique took a drink of her beer. “You can feel the bad vibes.”

Mick rolled his eyes. “You were with me when I signed the lease. You didn’t say anything about bad vibes then.”

“Why the name Raoul?” Dante asked, staring at the far wall.

“What?” He turned his attention to Dante, Mick hadn’t thought he was listening.

Dante’s grey eyes moved from the wall to Mick, studying him for a moment. “Is Raoul an unrequited love or something?”

Mick swallowed, anger and embarrassment coiling together, Dante could always make him feel inadequate. “Raoul is a fun name to say, I like the sound as it rolls off my tongue. Also, since I’ve moved in, my muse has reawakened, so I guess I think of Raoul as my muse.”

“Don’t tell me.” Dante gazed deeper into Mick’s eyes. “You dream about Raoul, too?”

He sipped his beer, calming himself, knowing that Dante was only trying to humiliate him. He returned the intense stare, saying, “Yeah, I dream about him, almost every night. Hard core.”

Alex sighed wistfully. “At least you’re getting something. Dream ghost sex is more action than I’m getting these days.”

Dante leaned his long arms on the table and took a drink of beer. “If Raoul is your muse, maybe he can help you write something better than your normal, inane drivel.”

“Dante,” Monique hissed. “Don’t be a total ass.”

“What?” Dante’s steely gray eyes challenged everyone at the table. “You know what I say is true, what he writes isn’t any good.”

Mick stared at his beer, watching the condensation form into droplets and slide down the side of the glass. Dante could always manage to say the most devastating things with an economy of words. Mick looked at Alex and ‘Nique, but they kept their eyes turned away. Maybe they all felt the same way. Was his writing that bad?

Dante shook his head. “Look, I’m not trying to be unkind but sugarcoating the words won’t help you, Mick. You think a publisher will be kind?”

Alex inhaled sharply. “Dante, that’s too much. He just needs a little polish.”

Mick scanned the table seeing Monique’s look of sympathy, Alex’s near drunken concern and Dante’s contempt. So. They did feel the same way. His camaraderie with the three people at the table suddenly felt surreal and a vast loneliness stole over him. Mick drained his glass and stood. “I’m leaving.”

“Oh Mickey, don’t.” Monique looked at him sadly, her eyes blinking back tears.

He didn’t need tears. Out of all three, he found he appreciated Dante’s approach most of all. At least Dante had enough guts to tell him. “I’ll talk to you later.” He threw enough money onto the table to cover his part of the tab, then he left.

Outside, Dante caught up with him. “Stop, Mick.”

Mick paused and turned, Dante was a good six inches taller, and he had to look up. He found that annoying and he glared at Dante.

Eyes like cold steel, Dante gave Mick his normal disapproving look. “Don’t you think you’re being childish?”

Mick kept his features neutral. He was trying desperately to get past his feelings of attraction for Dante. He didn’t want to allow those piercing words to hurt him anymore. “Am I? I’m sorry, but I’m not in the mood for your comments tonight.”

Mick began to turn away but Dante’s hand snaked out and grabbed his arm. “Why do you always insist on making me into a villain?”

Staring straight ahead Mick found the words repeated them without emotion. “You are a villain, Dante, you are a cold-hearted bastard.”

Dante’s fingers tightened, tugging Mick around to face him. “Why would you say that?”

“Let go, Dante.” Mick felt the hopelessness wash over him. “You’ve already made your feelings about me crystal clear.”

“Have I?” Dante’s eyes widened but his tone remained full of contempt. “I don’t remember telling you how I feel. Are you sure you are not projecting your own expectations on me?”

Mick tried to wrench his arm free, but Dante’s fingers held fast. “I don’t have time for this, Dante.” Not so long ago, he’d wanted to ask Dante’s opinion about his writing. Not so long ago, before the insults and the disdain began, he’d adored Dante. Now all he wanted was to get away from those taunting, cold eyes. “I need to get home and write some more crappy prose.”

Dante’s hand loosened and slipped down his arm, fingers briefly interlacing with Mick’s before pulling away completely. “I’m sorry.”

Mick shook his head. Dante was apologizing? No, he must be hearing things. “What?”

Glancing away and staring at the side of a building, Dante said, “I’m not very good at speaking to people I… like. I tend to become a bully, some sort of defense mechanism, I guess.”

Mick swallowed, Monique must have really lectured Dante to get this kind of reaction out of the churlish man. “I’m all right. I know you don’t like me, you don’t have to pretend.”

Dante exhaled. “It’s not like that. I’m just not…”

Interrupting him, Mick said, “Its okay.” Turning, Mick waved a hand over his head. “I’ll see you.”

Mick walked home, the exercise helped to manage his anger and pain. He also considered his life as he walked, the wind blowing against his hair and face, gently but incessantly. The last year had been bad for him. He hated his job, his writing was not going well, and he’d had to move to a smaller apartment in order to save money. To top it all off, his love life was nonexistent. Yes, his life looked grim, indeed.

Making his way up the stairs and opening the door to his apartment, he realized that since the move, something in him had changed. He felt better, stronger and more alive. True, his new dwelling was smaller than he was accustomed to, little more than an attic apartment in a converted mansion, but he found his new home comforting.

He had to step over a pile of boxes in the narrow hallway while dodging the sloping eaves of the ceiling to work his way towards to the small kitchenette. He paused when he emerged in the studio room, placing his coat on a hook while he stared straight ahead and out the round window set above the built-in window seat. To his left was the tiny kitchen and to his right, past his futon and across the sizable studio room, was the small bathroom. Sure, his apartment was small, but everything he needed was here, especially the window. Mick loved the window seat and loved the fact that he could see the sky and the moon so perfectly.

Turning away from the window, he stepped into the tiny kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal for dinner. There was no need to cook; he would write a bit and then head to bed anyway. Writing tonight was bonus time, since he’d expected to be out late with his friends. Friends. He rolled his eyes.

Standing near the sink, he ate his cereal while listening to the persistent wind. Sometimes, up here in the attic room, the wind seemed to speak, telling him things, but he couldn’t understand all the words. He shook his head, worrying that someday he’d turn into one of those eccentric people who wore aluminum foil caps.

When he finished his dinner, he rinsed out his bowl and that was when he noticed: the dishes in the drying rack were different. In the morning when he washed them and set them in the rack, he’d carefully memorized the way he’d arranged them. Smiling, he opened the cupboard above his head. The stoneware dishes sat aligned by size, biggest on the left to smallest on the right. Raoul had been busy.

He heard the front door creak open and smiled again, making his way to the door. Mick knew he had closed and locked the door, but he decided Raoul was making an entrance. The thought of sharing his home with a ghost didn’t bother or frighten him. Oddly enough, he found Raoul’s presence comforting, and he thought of the entity as a friend. It was nice to think that someone was glad of Mick’s existence.

Mick entered the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He was determined to do a little reading tonight instead of writing, although he could feel the tug of the keyboard and the computer. There was a scene in his head begging for the telling. He rinsed out his mouth and set the toothbrush in its holder. Standing up straight and looking into the mirror, his eyes caught sight of someone standing behind him.

He inhaled sharply and blinked. There was no one there, no one with ice-blue cat-eyes and dark gray skin. Mick turned, gazing into the studio room, seeing the light from the moon spilling onto the hardwood floor. His eyes were playing tricks on him, all he had seen was the soft moonlight reflected in the mirror.

“It was just the moonlight I saw,” he whispered.

“Yesssssss.” The wind outside agreed, rustling though the trees.

He exhaled the breath he’d forgotten he was holding and chuckled. “One aluminum foil cap coming right up.”

Moving to his dresser outside the bathroom, he took off his shirt and slacks, throwing them in to the laundry basket. He pulled on a t-shirt, irritated he would have to do laundry soon. Mick hated doing laundry. He placed his watch in the tray with his few other pieces of jewelry and paused. A lone ring sat in the ceramic dish, one he’d never seen before. Picking up the band of metal, he studied it closely. The ring was solid silver but very heavy.

“Platinum?” He asked aloud, but there was no answer.

Staring at the band of silver, he sat down on the futon. He didn’t remember owning this ring. Maybe it was Ethan’s? His last boyfriend was a lover of jewelry, but Ethan would have scoffed at such a plain band. Curious if the ring would fit, Mick slipped it on to his middle finger. Too big, he moved it to his index finger. The band slipped around loosely. Finally, he placed it on his thumb. The ring fit perfectly, as if made for him. Glinting moonlight hit the silver band and he could see a faint pattern of lighter gray vines with thorns twining around the ring. It was beautiful and for a moment, he wished it had come from someone special.

A chill filled the room and Mick was suddenly aware of the silent wind. The hair on the back of his neck stirred and his gaze shifted to the window. The moon was harvest colored but still had some time before it was full. A shadow filled the window for a moment and Mick’s heart pounded in his chest.

“Silly.” He chided himself and took off the ring with a sigh. Mick might wear the band someday but not yet. For some inexplicable reason, it didn’t feel right.

The wind howled outside and he yawned, suddenly overcome with weariness. He lay on the futon, staring out the window and deciding he would forego both writing and reading for sleep. He felt the chill again and focused, noticing that the round window was slightly open. He smiled. Mick didn’t mind if Raoul wanted the window open. He closed his eyes and drifted.

“Michael.”

Mick felt heaviness in his limbs, his movement slow, as if in water. He cracked his right eyelid. He wondered if he was hearing the wind call his name.

“Michael.”

He sat up and blinked his eyes. There was a figure at the window seat. The moon was bright enough to mark out that the person was certainly male although Mick wasn’t certain he was human. Illumination further revealed long dark waves of thick hair and wide shoulders. Yes, the person was certainly male, but the moonlight played tricks with Mick’s eyes because the person also appeared to have bluish-gray skin. Mick squinted, but he could not make out facial features. “Who are you?”

“Raoul.”

Mick stared and then understanding filled him; he was experiencing was a dream. Raoul was visiting him in his dreams, just as he had told Dante. He smiled with the irony.

“During the upcoming full moon, Michael, I will be at my strongest and able to enter this world.” The dark head tipped to look out the window and a glint of silver flashed from the being’s eyes. “What you call the Harvest Moon. I can come to you then, be with you forever after, but you must help me do this.”

“Raoul.” Mick let the name slide off his tongue and the figure in the window stiffened and moaned

“Yesssssss.” Was the wind-song from the creature’s voice. “The name you gave me sounds so good, Michael, I am filled with ecstasy when you say it. By naming me, we are already joined.”

“Joined?” Mick asked wondering why he felt no fear. He understood he was in a dream, but still, the meeting was very strange.

“You called me to you. Through your disappointment and your lonesome pain, you wished for me. I can fix everything for you.” Raoul smiled. His teeth looked sharp.

Mick licked his lips, feeling sweat accumulate on his brow. Raoul called to him, not with words but with something else. Mick didn’t understand it, but he was painfully erect. “Are you proposing a deal? Are you the devil?”

“I am not the devil.” Raoul showed his teeth again and stood up fluidly. He looked like a statue, tall and sinewy with blue-gray skin, the color of a stormy sky, with light silver tattoos of thorny vines, visible only where the moonlight touched his skin. Raoul’s eyes were ice blue with silver cat-like pupils. Mick’s eyes traveled hungrily over the perfect body and paused at his enormous hard-on.

Swallowing, Mick continued to stare. He slipped out of bed, drawn to the figure in the window seat and wanting to touch Raoul.

“You approve of what you see?” The creature asked.

Mick took a step forward his body crying with need, lust overcoming everything other thought processes. “Yes.”

“You want me to touch you?” The words caressed Mick’s ears. “I could make you feel such pleasure.”

This was a dream. Wasn’t it okay to have a devil fuck you in your dreams? He took another step forward. “Yes. Make me feel pleasure.”

A tidal wave of bliss washed over him, causing his knees to buckle and to slide to the floor. His cock throbbed with aching need and he writhed. “Raoul, please …”

Raoul chuckled. “I cannot, Michael. You must wear the ring I gave you in order to make our connection complete. You will free me and I will give you everything you want and more.”

“No,” Mick managed to whine and he crawled forward. “This is only a dream. I should be able to have you.”

“I will visit again tomorrow, Michael. There are seven days until the full moon and I can come to you then but only if you wear the ring. In the meantime, I will give you a taste.” Raoul gestured with his hand and Mick’s cock twitched and he was coming. “I will be your muse and I will pleasure you.”

Through the throes of orgasm, Mick watched Raoul fade and disappear from the window seat. Then he closed his eyes and drifted away.

He was cold and sticky when he woke up on floor. He sat up and looked at the empty window seat and the moon perched high in the night sky. He ran a hand through his short blond hair. “What the hell was that?”

After cleaning himself up, Mick sat down at his computer and began to type.

“I’m so glad you agreed to meet me for lunch,” Monique said, looking closely at him. “You look good.”

“Thanks.” Mick smiled thinly, sitting down. “What is it you want?”

She inhaled. “To apologize. I’m so sorry about the other night, Mickey.”

“I wish you had been honest with me, ‘Nique.”

“About what?” She took a sip of her water.

He glared at her. “About how much my writing sucked.”

Taking his hand she said, “You know I don’t think that. Please don’t assume that asshole Dante speaks for all of us.”

Mick relaxed but he gazed deeply into her brown eyes. “I think you were too nice with me about my writing. We’re friends and I know you are a sweet person, ‘Nique, but I need you to be straight with me. I need to trust you. Dante may be an asshole, but I can always count on him to tell me the truth.”

“Agreed.” She squeezed his hand. “Are we okay?”

Mick nodded and placed a disc on the table with his free hand. “Read this and tell me what you think, but only the truth.”

“Okay.” Her thumb brushed over his and she paused. “What’s this? A ring?”

“Yes.”

Monique raised an eyebrow. “A ring is a little out of character for you, Mickey, especially one on your thumb.”

Mick pulled back his hand. “I was looking for more inspiration. Since I’ve been wearing it, my muse has really taken off.”

She gave him a teasing smile and placed her elbows on the table. “You, know, some cultures have superstitions about wearing a ring on your thumb. It’s supposed to weaken your willpower.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said with a smile. He picked up his water glass and turned it in his fingers, his voice was quiet when he continued. “Hey, ’Nique, do you really believe my apartment has a poltergeist?”

She stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Well,” he shrugged. “You believe in those kinds of things, right?”

Leaning forward she said in the same soft tone. “Has something happened?”

Absently he twirled the ring on his finger. “Sort of.”

“Other than your things moving around your apartment?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat and he looked away with guilt. “I’ve been dreaming a lot.”

“What kind of dreams?”

“They are about Raoul.” He felt his cheeks color when he added, “They are very intimate dreams.”

She chuckled and sat back. “Maybe you’re just horny. It’s been a long time since you got any.”

He exhaled, feeling himself relax with her words. “You have no idea how glad I am you said that.”

Tipping her head slyly to the right Monique asked, “And what does the infamous Raoul look like?”

Mick laughed nervously. “If I told you, you’d certainly have me committed.”

“Why?” She leaned on her elbows again, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Is he a hideous beast?”

“Well… no, he’s just different. He’s…” Mick considered what to say. Raoul wasn’t a dream? That Raoul’s skin was an amazing shade of blue? That he had silver eyes with elliptical pupils? Maybe that Raoul was always naked with a gigantic hard-on? Perhaps he could tell her every time Raoul appeared, Mick fell to his knees, begging for a fuck? A fuck that never happened but one he considered bargaining for? He shook his head. “He has a strange power over me. I feel helpless when I… dream of him but I like it. I want it.”

She blinked. “That was possibly… geez, you have it bad. Sounds like you are in love with your poltergeist.”

“I…” He gazed at her and swallowed. “I think he’s real, ‘Nique.”

Monique blinked again and her features were full of alarm. “Mickey, what are you telling me?”

He knew immediately that he’d made a mistake in taking to Monique about Raoul. She couldn’t help him with the dreams that plagued him. Raoul was something he had to face on his own. He dug deep and forced himself to grin. “Got you.”

She furrowed her brow. “You and I have been friends since High School and you’ve never been able to fool me. What the hell is going on?”

“It was just a joke.” He met her serious, determined stare and sighed. “It’s nothing, okay? Look, I’ve got to go.”

“But you haven’t eaten,” she said.

“I’m not hungry.”

Monique caught his hand and squeezed his fingers. “Why don’t you meet up with us tonight after work? I know Alex felt pretty bad about the other night, too.” She leaned forward. “Come on, you need to get out of the house and it’s just a beer.”

Mick shook his head. “Not tonight. I’ve got a date with my… computer and a new story to write.”

She frowned. “Dante will be so disappointed.”

His happy anticipation of a night of writing faded at the name. “Why would Dante be disappointed? Because he can’t tease me for being a pathetic loser?”

“Mickey…” she studied him. “Is it possible that you really don’t get it?”

Mick blinked. “Get what?”

“Dante’s hot for you. I think he just doesn’t know how to act around you and his approach always comes out as cruel teasing. He’s like that kid in school who picked on the girl he had a crush on.” She sipped her drink. “All three of us were upset that we hurt you the other night, but Dante was inconsolable.”

“I don’t believe you.” Mick’s head spun, Dante liked him? Hadn’t Dante gone so far as to chase after him and apologize to him that night? Then he remembered the words from earlier in the evening, and he shook his head. “Impossible. I know Dante hates me.”

Monique chuckled. “Hardly. Try not to be too hard on him, okay?”

Standing up and kissing her cheek he said, “You’re delusional.”

She grabbed his hand. “You know I’m here for you, right?”

“I know,” he answered. “Try not to think of me as a complete nutcase, okay?”

“I don’t think of you as a nutcase.” She smiled weakly at him.

“Read my story. You can even let Mr. Surly read it if you want to, but tell me honestly what you think, and the sooner the better. I have a decision to make based on what you tell me.”

“What? My opinion matters?”

“Yes, ‘Nigue. Always.”

Squeezing his hand her fingers brushed over the ring and she gasped, pulling her hand away. Blood welled on her fingers from tiny pinpricks where she had touched the band. “Ouch! How did that happen?”

“Are you hurt?” Mick asked, staring at the small wounds. Something bothered him about the injuries.

“No.” She sucked her fingers. “It’s not bad, but it did feel like I grabbed onto some thorns. Your ring is vicious.”

Mick scowled at her. Thorns. The thorns were not visible in the daylight, only in the moonlight. They were only faint etchings on the ring, not real thorns. He observed her wounds again; the small, bleeding holes did look like thorns had pricked her. “Are you sure you are okay?”

Chuckling, she said, “Go. I promise I will read your story tonight.”

“The truth this time, ‘Nique. It’s really important.”

She nodded her understanding.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he said before he departed.



The phone rang. “Hello?”

“Mickey? I thought you had a date with your computer.”

“I do.” Mick answered. “I’m meeting him in a few minutes.”

“Well,” she began, “I just wanted to let you know I finished your story.”

“And?” He asked. “Remember, the truth.”

“It’s wonderful. I mean it. It’s the best thing you’ve written. The characters were so real.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She answered. “It’s like nothing you’ve ever written before.”

The words hit him and he didn’t know how to react. Raoul was helping him and Raoul was his muse. What did that mean? “Thanks.”

“Will that help with your decision of trying to get it published?”

“Yeah… something like that.” He lied. What would he do now?

“I gave a copy to Dante and Alex is reading it right now.” He could hear her enthusiasm on the phone. “It’s a keeper, Mickey.”

“Thanks.”

They hung up and Mick gazed out the round window at the full harvest moon. He wondered, his fingertips of his right hand caressing the ring on his left thumb. Should he complete the tie, should he wear the ring tonight? So far, each night the beautiful creature appeared, he’d left Mick spent and craving more, but Raoul hadn’t been free to do what he wished. If Mick wore the ring tonight in Raoul’s presence, their link would finalize. A fragment of his brain warned that Raoul might be dangerous and might kill him, but another part wondered if Raoul was even real. Mick considered the fragility of his sanity.

He heard Monique’s words again, “It’s the best thing you’ve written.” Yes, he would wear it, but his motives were confused. Would he make the contract final for the muse or for the pleasure? Or was it both? The two desires entwining tightly together, the edges blurring so he no longer knew himself what he was truly seeking or craving.

Shaking his head clear of his thoughts, he moved to his computer and began to type. Only minutes later, he felt the wind from an opened window and the lights flickered and went out but oddly, his computer remained running. He turned to see Raoul sitting on the window seat, his quicksilver eyes gleaming in the moonlight, causing Mick’s blood to heat. “Michael, you’ve made a decision?”

Mick nodded, while standing and moving to the window.

“Say my name, Michael.”

“Raoul,” Mick said. The creature trembled with the sound of his name and Mick was transfixed and terrified at the same time.

Raoul stood and stepped away from the window seat, lifting his hand in the process. Long spidery fingers caressed Mick’s cheek delicately. Mick felt the searing, impossible heat from the contact and his entire body began to shake. Raoul closed his eyes and slowly threw his head back, a low, keening sound emanating from what appeared to be intense pleasure.

Mick could barely remain upright from the surging desire he felt. “Will you hurt me now?”

“Hurt you? No Michael, I need you to live a long life. We are now bound, you and I.” He raised his hand, displaying the silver band on the blue-grey index finger. Moonlight revealed the thorny vines on the ring, the same silver-gossamer thorns that decorated Raoul’s skin. They were so real; sometimes Mick was certain he could see the vines moving.

Mick held up his own hand and the same ghostly markings were visible on his ring. He felt the ring tighten unpleasantly, but only for a moment. He looked into silver eyes. “What are you Raoul?”

Raoul shivered when Mick said his name. “I am your protector and your muse and your lover if you wish.”

Mick’s heart beat faster at that declaration. “What am I to you?”

Revealing sharp teeth in a smile, Raoul said, “You are everything to me. You are my master and you give me life.”

“Your master?” Mick shook his head, repeating the words. He didn’t think he was master in this… relationship.

“Yes.” Raoul stared at him, elliptical-shaped pupils glimmering in the light. Leaning closer, his wind-voice dropped lower. “May I pleasure you, now, Michael?”

Mick felt his body respond immediately, his knees turning to jelly from the words he’d longed to hear. “Yes.” Long fingers moved too quickly for Mick to follow and he felt his clothes part and fall from his body. He looked down, seeing the shredded clothing at his feet. “Raoul.”

At the touch of those blue-gray hands, that scorching heat enveloped him again and he felt himself pushed backwards and onto his bed.

“I’ve waited so long for you, my Michael.”

Raoul’s scent was of pre-winter wind and drizzling rain, of bonfire smoke and freshly tilled earth. He was the scent of the harvest moon and Mick inhaled deeply when the naked body covered him. Raoul’s skin was cool to the touch but his tongue was hot. That exceptionally long tongue was everywhere. Mick’s found he was helpless to resist and a searing tongue opened him, invaded and worshiped him.

Saliva from Raoul covered Mick’s entire body and his nipples and cock were on fire from the licking they’d taken. Mick whimpered, he’d come so many times he was delirious and weak when Raoul flipped him onto his stomach and lifted his hips. Raoul’s tongue had prepared him well and that immense blue cock slipped inside him, stretching painlessly, filling him with cool, hard flesh.

Raoul’s strength was such that Mick was nothing more than a doll in his hands, twisted and repositioned over and again. Even though Raoul came several times, he never paused; he was insatiable in his lust and the night continued. Mick was certain he’d lost consciousness a few times, but equally certain even that didn’t stop Raoul. Fucked mercilessly, Mick welcomed the decadent perversion until his mind went completely blank and he remembered no more.

In the morning, he woke alone and for a moment, wondered if he’d dreamed the encounter. He was sore and exhausted in a bed covered with semen, smelling of sweat and the distinctive scent of the harvest moon. Raoul was truly real. He touched the ring on his thumb and it did not move, he couldn’t even twist it any more.

He looked at his computer. Another desire engulfed him and he stood up. Ignoring the crusty, dried emissions, he sat naked at his desk and began to write.

End part 1