**Eat Crow

The crescent moon beamed a sharp-toothed grin on the dim streets and twisting alleys of the Ville Lumière below. The air was brittle with cold. Most of the sleeping city’s inhabitants had long ago fled from the cobblestones that glinted with frost like shards of glass, retreating into their warm homes and snug beds that served as bulwark against the savage bite of the encroaching winter.

However, the streets were not wholly abandoned. Twin shadows crept through the dark, their owners seemingly oblivious to the chill. They were a curious pair. The lean body of the youngest clasped the pain of poverty close to its bones, but his clothes were well-kept – although he was not dressed so warmly as he ought to have been. He moved with the slinking grace of a cat. His fine, dark-rimmed eyes flashed with feral intensity as he said with mock reproach, “You didn’t need to make such a mess.”

His companion was flush with blood, his fawn skin reddened to a rich ocher. Pale eyes reflected the moon. His rebuttal was guttural in his throat, warmed with a humour that bordered on the dangerously manic, as though he were drunk on wine. “You choose poorly.” His long coat fluttered as he walked, exposing the shirt beneath spattered with something dark as blackberry juice. “If you had not let her run, I would not have had to stop her.” The end of the wooden cane in his hand tapped meaningfully on the stone road.

The boy’s storm-cloud eyes widened in theatrical disbelief. “Let her run?” he protested with an incredulous gesture of clever hands. “You are mistaken, Monsieur. She hadn’t found her feet yet when you found her throat.” He skipped nimbly over a crack in the road. “It was excessive, what you did.”

The advancing street lamp caught his companion’s wicked smile and the light glinted on the clean ivory of his long teeth. The boy narrowed his eyes against the circle of light. He paused at its outermost edge and raised his heel to examine the muddied cuff of his trousers. He cursed under his breath. “And you’ve spoiled my clothes.”

His companion came to a halt with a hiss of irritation but the boy did not look up from his careful inspection. He worried his lower lip between his teeth as the tips of two fingers prodded the leather of the shoe that was stained with blotched dark marks. The oozing blood clotted in the stitching like mud.

"Ah, merde. These boots are ruined."

"We will get more,” his companion said unconcernedly. “There is plenty. Allons viens.”

The boy, however, could not be persuaded to move. His brows furrowed and he made a sound of displeasure as though in doubt of this dubious waste. “Oui, but… they are the only ones I have.” He frowned down at the ground. “They will now dr—“

The words were lost as the air was suddenly knocked from his lungs. The movement had been too swift for even his keen senses to follow as more than a flicker in the periphery of his vision before he had been swung violently about and his back slammed hard against the wall of the alley. He struggled weakly with the abrupt disorientation but had the sense not to fight back against the hands that held him by the collar of his shirt.

The light was dim here but he could see the impatience sparking through the blind eyes of his companion. His body pressed so close as to stifle him between it and the unyielding hardness of the wall at his back. The vampire’s grin was wolfish as he pressed his lips to the slender throat, and the boy instinctually stiffened, panting at the nearness of those sharp teeth.

“Very well,” he breathed into the exposed skin of his neck. His lips trailed and his tongue flicked along the arch of his collarbones. “I am sorry for ruining your boots. Does that please you?”

The boy opened his mouth to reply, his breath still shallow in his lungs from the blow he had received, but his companion’s mouth trailed so low he was forced to take to his knees to continue. His warm breath sieved through the fabric that bound his loins and the boy’s reply was lost. He grasped the crumbling stone of the wall with his fingertips.

“Ah, Monsieur,” he swallowed. “Someone will see us and there will be-“ The hot press of his companion’s lips found their target and mouthed the skin through his trousers and the final word came out as a yelp. “Questions!” That they were both still dappled with sprayed blood was not lost on him.

“Très bien,” came the muffled answer. The vampire’s voice was sharp with taunting humour. He nuzzled hungrily against skin that stirred approvingly beneath the fabric. The boy shivered as though from the piercing cold. His fingers tightened on the worn stone. “Then I will take them in a manner in which you approve, oui?”

His only response was a gasp as the vampire’s tongue left a damp spot in the cloth that bound his waist. “And I will not make such a mess this time,” he purred in a voice of false contrition. The vague clot of his sightless eyes shimmered as though with stars.

It was vile relief when the vampire’s warm breath drifted from the flesh he had enlivened with his touch. His skin throbbed in aching want for the press of that mouth, but it had drifted away, down low towards his feet.

He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare look down at the hunched figure whose kneeling position conjured such hungry thoughts of his mouth, his tongue, of his skillful hands. He could feel the heat of his companion’s mouth even through the leather as the vampire’s tongue curled over the top of his boot with an eagerness that seemed obscene. This was too much and he closed his eyes, his breath stilling in his chest.

The vampire took his time. He ran his tongue languidly over the stitching where the blood gathered in thick, dark beads. He tasted the dust of the streets and took the grime of all his wanderings in with a hum of satisfaction, his palms flat on the ground like an animal. He lapped at his feet as he had so recently suckled the blood from a torn throat.

Finally, blessedly, he quitted his task and rose in a single motion of unfolding, like a spider. His knees were damp from the cold ground. The material of the boy’s boots shone from the wetness of his mouth. The vampire pulled his boy close with strong hands and devoured him, his kiss hungry and deep, his mouth tasting of stale blood and dust. His teeth clashed against the boy’s own in a way that returned the breath to his lungs and set his heart to pounding.

His ghostly eyes glowed when he pulled away. “There,” he said, with an air of gratification that was not entirely deserved.

"They are still ruined," the boy said hoarsely.

"Oui, but now you will not complain about it. Come."

The vampire turned to leave the dark alley. Without protest, he trailed after his companion, shaking life back into his quivering limbs as he went.

The pair had a tendency to roam in the way of wild animals – unbound by schedules or timetables, they were free to follow meandering lines that lead them indirectly to their destination. The younger of the two often veered off to investigate a strange noise or scale a fence with feline ease to glimpse into the lighted windows of the houses above but he always returned, pressing close to his companion’s side. He was unfailingly met with an affectionate brush of fingers that made his skin rise in pebbles beneath it.

He drifted less often after his dubious reprimand in the alley. His feet still prickled with the warmth of his companions tongue through the leather of his boot. The press of the hot mouth against skin that throbbed with want for it had been etched distractingly into his brain and he shivered at the memory again and again. The dark city about them was beginning to grow grey in anticipation of the sunrise and he was glad they were returning home.

He was sick with desire by the time the point of a familiar rooftop was revealed against the lightening sky. The copse of ghostly aspen trees waved their thin, bone-white branches in a creaking greeting as they passed to the threshold of the house. The boy was restless and impatient as he listened for the usual scrape of his companion’s knuckle on the wood of the door as he felt for the lock and the subsequent crunch of the turning key.

They stepped into the house and the cold air shrank away. His companion murmured something that had the cadence of a command but the boy, preoccupied, missed it. His chatoyant eyes caught the silvered moonlight streaming through the door as he frowned and began, “Je vous demande pardon, Tariq, I-“

For the second time that evening the breath was stolen from his lungs as his back connected hard with a wall. Now, however, he could feel that the menace in it was teasing and he thrilled at the warm hand about his neck. His companion’s white eyes were lit as though by flame. His touch was demanding. His blood was up and it called to him, blood to blood, stirring anticipation to hunger in his veins. The boy’s body leaned into the grasp like a dog under his master’s hand.

“You are terribly familiar this evening, Fabien,” his companion purred. His breath poured hot like pooling wax along his neck and the boy lifted his sharp chin to expose the taut stretch of his throat. Tariq’s lips pressed into it with stately leisure, a kingly seal on a writ of execution. His tongue flicked against the skin and the boy shuddered. “Should I pretend to not have noticed how you are burning for me?”

Fabien’s lukewarm protest was stifled by the hand that crept down his belly. His stomach shrank inward as the possessive touch slunk lower before pressing flat to slip beneath the fabric that bound his waist. Tariq’s warm breath in his ear was coloured with a growl as his long fingers found their mark and claimed it for his own with a coaxing flourish. A moan crumbled into a soft whine at the back of the boy’s throat.

“The door,” he gulped and his companion spared him an amused glance from sightless eyes before complying and nudging the open door with an elbow. It clicked shut and the light of the moon was severed. Safe from prying eyes, the vampire relinquished the skin growing firm in his palm and not so much dropped as melted to his knees. Fabien’s back stiffened along the wall.

“Is this what set you aflame?” he asked, mockery sharpening his tongue. His hands held Fabien’s hips to the wall with enough force that he could hardly even squirm as his mouth teased the skin through the fabric with an infuriatingly deliberate slowness. “Is this what you want?” His voice was rough and rich in its merciless satisfaction.

The hot press of his lips was maddeningly insufficient and the boy panted and quivered as he strained to thrust against it, to make it enough. His hand fell to his waist and he attempted to pry his clothing down but his companion, his white eyes flashing with cruel mirth, paused in his pitiless administrations to snap his sharp teeth down on the pad beneath the boy’s thumb. He yelped and drew his hand away. Blood was already beginning to drip down his wrist and he put the torn skin to his mouth.

This was far too great a temptation to resist and Tariq rose, drawn to his blood with animal urgency. He pressed close, pinning the boy to the wall like a moth on a board, and closed his mouth over the base of his thumb. The stolen blood mingled in their mouths with the bite of rust. Tariq’s tongue licked the salt of it from the front of the boy’s teeth and he parted his lips hungrily. His heart rapped fiercely against the inside of his ribs.

Fabien’s sharp eye-tooth pierced the skin of his companion’s lower lip. He sucked the blood that rose from the cut with a vicious hunger, his body becoming taut with the desire, and Tariq pulled away with a sharp exhale. He shook his head as though to clear it, his body still inclined against the trapped boy’s. He took the boy’s chin in his hand and wiped a dark slither of blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Fabien moved to take his thumb between his parted lips. His mouth was soft and warm and wet as his tongue lapped the drop of blood from his finger, the cat-like shine of his eyes meeting the vampire’s sightless gaze.

This coaxed a shiver to rattle the old bones of Tariq’s spine and it stirred him to action. He took the boy roughly by his scruff the way one does a naughty dog and drove him forcefully forward, into the room that would be called a parlour had they ever entertained guests who survived the night. He dropped him unceremoniously to the floor between sofa and table where he stumbled but quickly regained his balance, the wet glimmer of his sharp grey eyes rising to his master in expectation.

“Take them off,” the vampire demanded. His voice was hoarse with want. There was little space between the words in which to argue. A smear of blood - his own or the boy’s was impossible to guess - darkened his lips.

Fabien was quick to obey this edict, slithering out from his clothes with conjuror’s fingers made fumbling in their haste. His blood-stained boots thumped heavily to the floor. His skin was flush with blood, bones beneath moving with easy grace as he disrobed. He was naked save the shirt he had only unbuttoned when he was clasped suddenly by the arms and forced over the sloping arm of the sofa. It struck him roughly in the stomach and he could feel the hard wooden frame beneath the upholstery.

His companion’s pale eyes were burning, lit with yellow light like the smoky head of a sulfurous match. He unclasped his belt and removed it with a slithering hiss that filled the boy’s mouth with water. He squirmed against the hand that pressed into the small of his back, feeling vulnerable and exposed in his half-naked state. He felt the blood rise to his face at the press of Tariq’s cock against the curve of his buttocks. His thin legs were shivering.

“Is this what you want?” Tariq asked again. His volume was low but his tone was breathless. He slid himself between his legs teasingly, leaving a trail where he had slickened his skin with his own bloodied spit. Fabien pressed his face into a pillow and muttered something indistinct. The hand at the small of his back ground his stomach painfully into the arm of the sofa, forcing his spine to arch. “Yes!” he said quickly, turning his mouth aside from the cushion. “S’il vous plait, Monsieur, oui.”

This was all the encouragement the vampire needed. He pressed into the boy in a single smooth motion, easing himself in until he has buried to the hilt. Fabien’s hands clenched into fists, his injured thumb throbbing, and his spine bowed. He turned his face to the side to press his cheek against the pillow beneath it. His breath came shallow in his chest.

Tariq was not kind. The rhythm he found in the press of his possessive hands on the skin that trembled beneath them as he rocked in and out was rough and hard. He possessed the sort of strength that made it possible for him to drive deep, again and again without tiring – and Fabien the sort of stamina that allowed him to take it, hips hauled upward and legs spread wide. It hurt and he made sure his companion knew it from the cries that fell from his mouth with every thrust.

He was achingly hard and strained to get enough friction against the rise of the arm of the sofa to rut against. Tariq, seeking to end this attempt to satisfy himself, leaned forward, putting the full weight of his torso on his back. It successfully crushed the effort. The vampire’s every exhale was cut short, bit off in his sharp-toothed mouth where it fluttered on the delicate skin at the back of his neck. He took the boy by the throat, cupping the slender stem of his neck in his palm.

“Say it,” he panted into his ear, the word nearly a snarl. Fabien complied zealously. “I belong to you!” he gasped. “I am yours.” His breath came in quick bursts that gave way to sobs as his companion’s thrusts grew quick and shallow. “Yours, yours,” he whimpered, his tear-stained face hidden in the pillow.

The vampire gave way with a groan. Somewhere deep between Fabien’s thighs there was a swelling that flared, ebbed, and flared again with an immediate sense of heat. Tariq’s fingers tightened on the boy’s hips hard enough to leave welts where they ground into the bone.

They were both breathing in pants. Tariq slowly pulled away and the absence of him was unbearable. Fabien felt gutted, hollowed by their separation, but the vampire did not allow it to last long before he bent once more over the boy. He took him by the cheek and lifted his head. His lips trailed affectionately behind his ear, over the curve of his neck. He kissed his throat tenderly. He licked the salt of his tears from his cheeks. The boy’s chest heaved but he was receptive, shifting to allow his companion whatever access he desired.

“Mine,” Tariq agreed. His pale eyes were fiercely bright. “My clever boy, my prince du sang.” His fingers crept into the hollow of his hip and gripped the eager flesh between his thighs in a possessive twist that made the boy gasp aloud. “Mon beau salope,” he added, unnecessarily. “Now move.”

The boy did as he was bid and stood awkwardly, swaying on his feet. His calves burned from the strain of having been bent. His open shirt hung loose from his shoulders like the broken wings of a bird. Tariq, fully-clothed save his undone trousers that lent him an air of perfect obscenity, fell on his back on the sofa where the boy had been. He crooked his knees over the arm so his long legs fell over the side. “Come here,” he gestured. He was leisurely, lazy, his head resting on one bent arm.

Fabien approached hesitantly, uncertain as to the vampire’s intentions, his erection still burning between his legs. Tariq, however, was impatient and pulled him closer by his wrist. It dawned on him what he wanted and he balked at the exposed position he was being molded into but the vampire’s hands were insistent in positioning him and he could not argue both with him and the want throbbing insistently between his thighs. He was soon kneeling on his hands and knees over his companion’s head. Tariq’s lips, still smeared with darkened blood, met his firm flesh and the boy shivered.

“Monsieur, I-“ he began but his companion silenced him with a hiss between his teeth and took him fully into his mouth.

There was no hope of him lasting much longer. There was a tense knot in his stomach that begged to be unwound. His battered body ached from its ill treatment and Tariq took to the task of finishing him off with an animal relish that bordered on the outright vulgar. His eyes were half-closed, mere crescents of moonlit-white as he rolled the skin over his wet tongue, his lips hot and hungry as they sucked him down to dust. He could not help the moans that filled his mouth. Nor could he resist the stirring of his hips as he thrust into the throat that so avidly accepted him.

The muscles of his abdomen tensed and the vampire pulled his head back. He came hard against his companion’s lips with a cry that broke apart in his mouth. Tariq swallowed it as though it were blood, voracious, ravening, his wicked tongue lapping eagerly until he was spent and then after, until the intensity of it made him writhe and he was forced to pull bodily back.

Fabien’s arms shook. He rolled to the side and dropped to the floor. He lay there on his back, his shirt spread on the ground like an altar cloth beneath him, breathing hard. Tariq turned to face him, one arm hanging limply over the edge. Hoarfrost glittered in his smile. The blood on his lips was like the stain of a bruise.

“A bath,” he said thickly. He had to clear his throat to continue. It did little to dispel the rasp from his voice. “And then to rest. The sun has risen in earnest.”

Fabien, who could feel the chill of the night being burnt away by the morning sun even through the walls of the house, nodded. His thin chest rose and fell as rapidly as a sparrow’s breast. His legs still quivered.

They lapsed into an intimate silence. It was disturbed only by their soft breathing and the song of an industrious lark greeting the morning outside the window. They were both long past a time when the silence that unfolded lazily between them could trouble them. This night was just like any other, marked only by how they chose to sate their hungers. It was a silence that could only be had between two people secure in the delicious knowledge that they had an eternity of nights just like this ahead of them.