by Geron Kees
© 2016 by Geron Kees. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction and depicts sexual activities between minors. All characters and situations are imaginary. No real people were harmed in the creation of this presentation. Please observe the laws of your jurisdiction with regards to reading this material.
If you are not 18, you shouldn't be reading this at all. Go find a boyfriend and talk stuff over with him.
Henry Everson Hunt, Earl of Renbriar, looked upon his son, The Honorable John Geoffrey Hunt, Baron of Renbriar, with mixed feelings. This was not going with the simplicity he had imagined, not at all. The lad certainly could be trying at times.
"You must pierce the skin, boy, and the blood must flow. You get no nourishment by nibbling."
The Baron, not quite seventeen, and already chafing beneath a title he felt burdensome, looked upwards from his position above the mesmerized girl. "Father. I know. I must bite into her. It's just so...unappealing."
The Earl sighed, closed his eyes a moment. "Nevertheless. You have reached your prime, boy, and can no longer nourish yourself simply with foodstuffs alone. If you do not wish to fade into the shadows of time, you must replenish that which will now drive you for the rest of eternity: the heart of blood."
"But father," John said, wrinkling his nose at the smooth white skin just inches from his newborn fangs. "It's...it's..." The boy broke off, unable to locate a word descriptive enough to cover the sense of revulsion he felt at the idea of piercing the girl's neck with his fangs, and then sampling her blood.
"You feel...nothing?" his father asked, watching him closely.
John knew what the man was asking. He wanted to know if the boy sensed the blood call. That intangible essence that only their kind knew: the draw of the nourishing blood of another, that fostered life, and made them what they were: Red'Und - the people of the night. Those who lived eternally, their fires stoked by the lifeblood of those around them.
"No, father. Nothing."
It really wasn't the girl's fault. The Lady Helen Weston was also sixteen, and quite striking by all accounts. The sons of gentry from across the land had hopes of someday courting her. Just...not John. The Lady Helen was cute, after a fashion, and would be elegantly beautiful someday. But she was a girl, would always be a girl, and biting into one of them was simply...no.
Blood call required a link on a far more subtle level than simply that of warmth, and life, and proximity. There needed to be communion, a meeting of basic natures. And John could not feel that here.
Every human was not prey.
John had already come to terms with the idea that it was members of his own gender to which he was drawn, to which the lusts within him applied. His father and mother were aware, and unconcerned, and said it was built into his nature; but that it simply did not matter when it came to nourishment. Food was food. Gender was unimportant.
But still there must be blood call. Gender was unimportant when it came to nourishment, yes; blood was blood. But without the call, the step to take that nourishment was a difficult one, indeed. The prey must be made helpless, and then sampled, but in no way harmed, and then restored when the feeding was completed.
All that malarkey about the undead followers of broods of vampires were human fictions applied to a companion breed they neither understood nor truly believed in. Vampires mesmerized their prey, yes. And they bit into them, and they sampled their blood, yes. But no horrors were traded, no lifetime of servitude bestowed. The vampire fed upon a quarter litre of blood, which was enough to nourish the soul for a month between new moons. The prey did not miss that amount of their life fluid, and the catholicon injected after feeding knit the victim's flesh quickly and more cleanly than any human remedy, leaving two tiny marks that vanished after several day's time.
No harm was done. The victim, mesmerized, was unaware of what transpired, and would wake with a feeling of peace and contentment once the spell was lifted.
Oh - and a feeling of lust. Apparently, once the body was sampled, it did develop some small attachment to the sampler. Well, no, that was an unfair appraisal; the attachment was quite large. And it often worked in both directions, with the vampire feeling some lust for the human food, as well.
In fact, it was exactly this troublesome side-effect of the nourishing that had young John so upset down deep about biting into the girl. Besides the fact that she was a female, and inherently unappealing, there was the idea that, after John had sampled the blood of her body, she would lust after him with great fervor. That he might feel a need to respond somehow simply appalled him. Appalled him enough to kill the blood call completely. It was frightening to imagine every day of his life for the next month - until the next new moon, when the lust would evaporate away - placed at the mercy of her desire to be next to him...and his to be next to her. He shuddered at the thought of it.
And that finalized it.
John sighed, and pulled away from the girl's neck. "I cannot do it."
The Earl squeezed his eyes shut again, shook his head slowly. "Son, if you do not nourish yourself, you will wither and perish. Do you understand this?"
John nodded. "Yes, father. I do. I just...it cannot be this girl."
The Earl's nose twitched. "She would make a fine wife."
Aha. So there was just a bit of matchmaking to this meeting, after all. John knew that despite his parents seeming lack of concern over his sexuality, they still held out hope that he would marry and continue the line. That settled it once and for all. John got to his feet, and backed a pace away from where the girl lay upon the sofa. "Not her, father."
The Earl looked displeased. "Son, the dark of the moon lasts but a day. You must nourish yourself within the back-to-back days of it, giving you but seventy-two hours to replenish yourself until the next dark of the moon. That time is half passed now. If you have not fed by tomorrow's midnight, your situation will become...grave, indeed."
"I would perish?" John asked, looking down again at the girl.
The Earl shook his head. "No. You are young. You would live for a month - until the next new moon - easily enough. But you would be weak. You would be confined to your enclosure for each period of daylight, or risk the burning of your hide by sunlight. You could not function, you could not attend school, and you would be miserable." The Earl made his eyebrows rise pointedly. "And during the next feeding, a month hence, you would be forced to accept whatever nourishment comes along, or take the even greater risk of roaming the countryside by night, seeking out a likely prey. It is exactly these types of unfortunate happenings that have added poorly to human lore about us, and so which are to be avoided if possible. Do you understand?"
John nodded slowly. "Yes. Feed by tomorrow's midnight, or face a painful month, and take my chances with fate."
The Earl nearly smiled at his son's summation of the situation. "The Westons will be with us another day. You can still take advantage of this situation. Think about it."
John nodded. Helen's parents had gone riding with his mother, the Lady Hunt. They had been gone nearly an hour, but surely they would be returning shortly. There was still time...
But not now. He could just not bring himself to do it.
Instead, he bent over and pulled the girl back to a sitting position, and arranged her dress in proper fashion. Then he stood back, and lifted the enchantment from about her.
The girl gave a soft sigh, and her eyes fluttered open. "What...?"
"My dear young lady," the Earl said smoothly, coming to stand next to John, "are you so weary? You have drifted into a small nap in the middle of our conversation."
Helen blinked, and then suddenly sat up straighter. "Oh. I am so sorry. That was rude of me, then."
"The long journey, surely," the Earl continued. "Quite a tiring ride, even by carriage."
The girl shook her head, sighed again, and then lifted a sunny smile in their direction. "Please forgive me, won't you? It must have been the travel, as you suggested."
"Perhaps a stroll in the garden? Some fresh air, and sunshine?" The Earl turned to his son. "John? Where are your manners, boy?"
John nodded, and stepped forward, smiling, and offered his arm to the girl. "Please do accompany me, Helen. The afternoon air will surely revive you."
Helen offered her hand, and John assisted her to her feet. The girl turned eyes askance at him, and offered a tiny smile. "Just so you know it is just a stroll, and no promise that you have my...full...attention."
John nodded, returning the smile. He was aware that Helen liked him, without the need for enchantment or blood between them. And he liked her, in friendly fashion, as well. But she was a girl, and he a boy that desired boys, and a liking for her was the best that he could muster. He had no wish to sample her, to take nourishment from her; nor to taste of her in any other fashion. And definitely, no desire to marry her.
He did feel a small sadness at that. For just a moment he recalled his father's words. Yes, Helen would indeed make a fine wife.
But a wife was not what John wished. Not now, and probably not ever. What he wished for - what he dreamed for - was a lover. Someone to share life with, share his bed with, share his plans for the future with.
A companion, a special one, the other half of the soul that John could so plainly see was incomplete.
That it would be another lad was a need he also understood. He needed a male soulmate. His heart pined for the touch of one of his own.
But Helen's touch was soft, full of liking, and not completely unpleasant, and he drew her a little closer as they went through the double doors of small lights and into the garden beyond.
The sun was warm, and seemed to tingle upon his skin as they walked among the flowers and shrubs. A warning, perhaps, of what he could face if not nourished?
The estate of his father, and his father's father, and a long line of Hunts extending into the dim past, stretched away all about them. Beyond the gardens lay the lawns, green and manicured; beyond them lay the forests, dense and dark. It was a beautiful place, vast in acreage, as old as the world and as secret as the depths of time.
Home. And hearth.
John turned for a moment, looked back at the great house, part manor, part keep. Stone and mortar, gracefully melded, yet strong with the feel of security about it, like the rocks that bedded the mountains in the distance. Yet somehow also elegant, and refined, and alluring in the mystery of how it could convey such strength and such beauty in one single breath.
The manor was designed, it was said, by the first Hunt of the line to settle this land, Alaric Hunt, John's five-times great grandfather, a millennium ago, yet scarcely exuding such a feeling of age. There was a small magic to the place, just the hint of otherworldliness about it, as if the stones had been assembled by hands carried aloft upon wings, and set in place with the sureness of eyes that had glimpsed the founding of the world.
Briefly, John smiled. Alaric Hunt still lived, although far removed from his birthplace now, residing in a magnificent home on the outskirts of Amsterdam, the myth of his human mortality maintained by never staying for more than a few decades in any one spot. That such a life was their birthright - or their birthcurse, depending on one's mindset - was a fact that John had already accepted.
At some point, several decades hence, his own mother and father would need to move on, and John would become Lord at this house, until his own time to move on came around. That idea caused him a brief frown. Who would take his place here, if he had no offspring to carry on the line? The idea of the great old house falling into disrepair, unloved and unlived in, pained him to consider. Somehow, that must not be allowed to occur.
Actually, his father's suggestion that he consider Helen for a wife was startling as well. Helen was a mortal, destined to live perhaps another fifty or sixty years, and then to vanish into the dust of ages. That John might not marry one of his own kind was a concession by his father - a suggestion rather than an answer. It would give John a son - and a daughter if he mated twice - to carry on the family line. The dhampir offspring of human and vampire was always a Red'Und - one of the people, the eternal ones that stood next to their human brethren, and among them, yet never were truly a part of them.
"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" Helen asked, giving his arm a little squeeze. "And so beautiful here. I love your home, John."
"Yes. It has much to recommend it."
He knew that was at best a lame reply. Even talking to girls was hard for him.
But Helen seemed to understand. She nodded, squeezed his arm a little bit more tightly, and they walked the garden paths in companionable silence, taking in the flowers, and the soft burble of the little stream that ran among them to the duckpond in the center. John pointed out this special flower or that, stating from what distant land they had been brought, and that his mother had collected flowers from all about the world. Helen seemed enthralled, somehow, which added a small amount to John's confidence as host, but did nothing to allay the misgivings he felt about spending time with the girl. Why give her encouragement, when there was nothing with which to back it?
They stood and watched the waterfowl play, laughing at the antics of the ducks, and then circled the pond and headed back to the house.
"I am refreshed," Helen said, brightly, as they came to the side of the manor. "It would be hard not to be, here in this place."
John smiled and nodded, his concentration already lost. He was watching something going on by the drive. His father and the estate's liveryman, Eric Vermeer, were standing by the Weston's parked carriage, apparently examining a wheel. Eric was bent forward, fingering the rim, and looking back over his shoulder at John's father.
"It might last the trip. It might not," the stableman was saying,
John and Helen drew up to them, and the Earl turned to face them, a smile coming to his face. "Ah. Good walk?"
Helen smiled. "Oh, yes. It is so beautiful, Lord Hunt. It is difficult not to become lost in all there is to see."
The Earl's eyes slid to his son's a moment before coming back to the girl's. "My liveryman has noticed a problem with your carriage. A crack in a wheel. We were just trying to decide if it would survive the journey back to Medelinshire."
Helen looked at the wheel, but shrugged her shoulders. "I know nothing of such things."
"It is here," Eric offered, fingering the wheel.
John peered at where the stableman's fingers pinched the outer edge of the wooden wheel. He could see the crack, which started at the outside and worked it's way about halfway to the inner rim. It was tight, and looked to not go all the way to the backside of the wheel. But that it was visible at all was cause for worry. It might not take all that much force to break the wheel at that spot - a goodly-sized rock in the road might do it.
The Earl sighed. "I would err on the side of caution. Eric, would you ride to town and fetch the wainwright?"
The estate had it's own carpenter, Silas, who was perfectly capable of repairing such things; but he had gone to Gissmond for a week to be with his sister, to help out her husband with the farm. The man had injured an arm, and was slow to mend.
"Certainly, Lord Hunt. I shall leave immediately."
The town was not far - a quarter hour's ride at an easy pace. They watched a moment longer as the liveryman took the wheel's measurements, and then went for his horse.
"It shall be taken care of before you leave," the Earl said, favoring Helen with a smile.
They returned to the house, for an afternoon tea.
Helen's parents returned, along with John's mother, their ride having taken them all about the estate. They appeared to have enjoyed themselves, and Helen was happy to sit between her parents in the large library while they recounted their trip. Both of the elder Westons seemed to have fallen in love with the land, if their smiles were any indicator of the day.
John listened with half an ear, wishing he could be elsewhere. He was aware of Helen looking at him from time to time, and smiling, and he was feeling that perhaps she liked him a bit more than he had originally surmised. What was worse was her mother, who seemed to be noting her daughter's attentions, and who was also favoring John with smiles. Her gaze made him uncomfortable, so when they heard the pounding of a hammer, John gratefully excused himself to go and investigate, saying he would report back on the progress of repairs to the Weston carriage.
The moment he was outside, he breathed easier. The presence of the girl was unsettling, but the attentions of her mother were just plain frightening. John could almost see the plans being considered in the mind behind those eyes, and he wanted no part of the future they suggested. Better to be seen as slightly rude than as the possible father of that woman's grandchildren.
He found Eric, the liveryman, at the Weston's carriage, along with two others. They were clustered about the damaged wheel, talking. John's eyes went to the newcomers - and lingered. One was a large, red-faced man, with powerful arms and a quick smile. The other was a young lad, about John's own age.
A rather striking young lad, actually.
"Digby Carter, wainwright," the big man said, offering John a slight bow. "This be my son, Rendy. Here to help with the wheel, he is."
Rendy was straw-blond, blue-eyed, and looked to be John's own age. His smile was twice as pleasing as his father's, and especially enchanting with the note of shyness it carried into his eyes as he gazed at John. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, m'lord."
John's heart turned twice in his chest. Oh, this lad was fetching! John felt the blood call immediately. Here! Here was the nourishment he craved, here was the one he needed!
The pull was so strong that it nearly overcame him. He wanted nothing more than to step forward and take the youth into his arms, to kiss him, and then...to bite him.
John immediately felt guilt at the thought. The pleasant feeling in his heart was matched by a pleasant feeling between his legs. This lad, son of a wainwright, a boy he did not even know, drew at John at every level of his being. To simply use the boy for sustenance was a horrifying idea. But to hold him close, perhaps, to feel his lips pressed tightly...and to make love to him...John had to take a breath at the idea. His legs felt weak, and he shifted his weight to keep from staggering.
The wainwright had gone back to examining the wheel of the carriage, but Rendy seemed unable to take his eyes from John's. The other was obviously feeling the call as well. Human prey sensed the Red'Und need at a deep level, and either responded to it with fear and anger, or with interest and fascination. This was so obviously a case of the latter that John almost laughed out loud with joy. He and Rendy smiled at each other for the longest time, just looking at each other, until John began to feel warm beneath his collar.
Yes, the draw was here, and in powerful form. The boy Rendy sensed John's desire at a basic level, and neither understood it nor recognized it for what it was. But that it spoke to him - and spoke to him deeply - was apparent. And that his response was a positive one said much about him. John was possessed of many senses that normal humans lacked. And so he knew a like heart when he met one. The boy Rendy was also one who liked his own gender.
The boy Rendy was like John.
"We...we are so glad you could come on such short notice," John stammered out, trying to focus, but only sensing Rendy's presence - his body beneath his clothing.
"We were glad to come," Rendy said immediately, edging closer. His eyes held something hidden in their depths.
"Hmm? Yes. Always can use the work, and pleased to serve, young lord." The wainwright looked up at him then. "I brought a replacement with me, based on your man's measurements. Looks to me it will do the trick just fine."
"I'll lend a hand," Eric said, drawing up his sleeves.
"Fetch me tools from the wagon, Rendy, boy," the wainwright said, giving his son a small nudge.
Rendy blinked, dragged his eyes away from John's, and nodded. John watched the boy walk to the wagon, watched him climb into the back, watched the way his body moved inside his clothing as he rummaged about the boxes stored there.
He returned shortly, a wooden carpenter's box in hand, which he set by his father's side.
"Now, we'll need to get the weight off of her..."
Digby and Eric set about levering the carriage's weight off of the damaged wheel and setting jacks in place beneath the axle. John and Rendy simply stood and stared at each other, until John thought he could stand it not a second longer. He moved closer to the other boy, and Rendy watched him come, smiling, his eyes never wandering from John's.
When John stood next to the boy, and could scent him, and feel the bloodwarmth from him, he thought again he would simply faint. Never in his life had he felt such desire for another. Rendy, for his part, seemed just as smitten somehow, leaning towards John, his hands working nervously at his side, as though wanting to reach out and take John's in his own.
"My hammer, Rendy - look alive!"
The boy started, and bent to the toolbox and handed his father a hammer. John squatted next to him, leaning even closer, and had to close his eyes at the feelings that coursed throughout his body. He wanted this boy like he had never wanted another. Wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to make love to him. And - no denying it - he wanted to sample him, too. To drink of him.
Rendy's arm moved slowly, and his forearm touched John's. Both boys gasped at the electric crawl of skin that passed between them at the contact. Rendy teetered, and leaned harder against John.
"Fascinating work," John breathed, nodding at the wainwright as the man looked over.
"Won't take long to make the switch," the other said, oblivious to the chemical and physical interplay between his son and a boy he'd only just met minutes ago.
It didn't take long. The old wheel's retainer was removed, and the wheel slid from the greased axle. Fresh grease was applied, the new wheel slid onto the axle, and the retainer tamped into place.
"Good as new," Digby decided, smiling at John after the carriage had been taken off the jacks.
"If you will come inside, my father will pay you," John said, making an extreme effort to pull away from Rendy and straighten.
He did not turn again as he led them back to the manor, and inside to the entry hall. "If you will. Please wait and I shall fetch my father."
John was back in moments with the senior Hunt, and the men moved off together to settle up while John and Rendy watched each other.
"Wonderful to meet you," John finally managed, licking his lips. The urge was terrible now, to take this lad and hold him.
"Yes," Rendy breathed. "Quite wonderful."
"You'll come back?" John chanced.
The other boy nodded. "Soon."
John leaned forward. "My room is the one to the right above the front entry. The one with the small balcony."
Rendy nodded, watching John's eyes with fascination.
The men came back, and Digby dropped an arm around his son's shoulders. "Come along, lad. Another stop to make, along the way." He nodded his head at John, and gave a small bow to his father. "A great pleasure, Lord Hunt. Call me anytime you're in need, I say."
And then the door was opening, and they were going.
John wanted to put out a hand, to stop Rendy from leaving. Instead he smiled at the boy and his father, and let them go. Eric left with them, also giving John and his father a smile and a nod. "The horses to look after."
When the door closed, John sagged against it. His father looked at him, and then at the door, as though he could see through it to the drive beyond. "Something?"
John met his eyes, and nodded, and his father immediately nodded in return. "Yes. I can see it in your eyes. Blood call." He glanced at the door again. "The boy?"
John closed his eyes, seeing Rendy's face in his mind - seeing his smile - and nodded again.
He felt a hand upon a shoulder and opened his eyes. His father had leaned close. "He'll be back, John."
The boy smiled at that. "Yes. I know."
Afternoon became evening. After dinner, they again sat in the library, and the adults talked, and John and Helen sat and listened to Caruso on the Edison. The idea of an Italian tenor recorded on an English cylinder and played on an American talking machine fascinated John, even distracting him momentarily from the instinctive call raging throughout his bloodstream. The world was getting smaller every year, it seemed, and technology progressing in leaps and bounds. The logical thought was that it would continue to do so, and John briefly wondered if his kind would one day find the world so small that they would no longer be able to hide within it. What then?
But he could not focus long enough to truly consider it. The blood call was too strong, the impulse to seek and nourish overpowering. Helen noticed his distraction, and was sympathetic when John simply called it a headache.
"Busy day, with much going on. Maybe I should retire for the evening." He glanced up at the mantel clock. It was just after eight.
Helen nodded. "I feel a bit of that, too." She smiled. "We can make our apologies, say goodnight, and you can walk me to my room."
The elders were sympathetic, but understood that both of the teens were tired. John's father gave him a purposeful nod that seemed to carry a message with it, and John could well figure out what the man was suggesting: lock your door tonight.
John walked Helen up the broad staircase and along the front hall to her room. It was at the end of the house, well away from his, in keeping with custom that preserved a respectable distance between a young lady and a young man. Not that John was ever to have a problem with that.
"Good night," he said, taking her hands and giving them a small squeeze. He really was feeling a bit of an ache in the back of his neck now, from all the strain of the call upon his system.
Helen eyed him, perhaps seeing the genuine pain. "Feel better, John." She smiled. "See you tomorrow."
She leaned forward and gave him a small kiss on the cheek, and he absently returned it, not caring now if it encouraged her. He needed to lay down a little and rest.
He nodded, and headed for his room, locking the door once he was inside.
An immediate sense of calm came over him. Just being away from the others - from the curious and speculative gaze of Helen's mother, and the worried and protective gaze of his father - brought a sense of relief with it that he could feel throughout his body. And just being away from Helen, and her warm and insistent desire to be his friend - and perhaps more - removed a calculable feel of tension from behind his eyes.
John was calm and thoughtful by nature, and generally handled stress very well. He was quick with his thinking, sensible, and decisive when the situation called for it. But this entire episode with the blood call, Rendy, and the visitors to the manor, had him worn out.
He removed his shoes, and traded his clothing for a comfortable nightshirt, and pulled a book from the case by the desk and went to lay in his bed. It was the tale by the Frenchman, Jules Verne, of Captain Nemo and his submarine, the Nautilus. John had begun the book the previous week, and become enthralled as Professor Arronax and his valet, Conseil, had met up with the sailor, Ned Land, and become captives aboard the fantastic submarine.
But try as he might to get into the tale, his heart was just not in it that evening. His thoughts kept going back to Rendy, to his beautiful face and his beautiful eyes, and the magic connection that John saw within them. Again the desire raged throughout his body, a powerful thing that soon had him shaking.
John put the book down, crawled slowly from the bed, and went to his enclosure. It was built against the wall and looked like a large chest. But when he raised the lid a comfortable mattress was revealed down inside, half the width of his own bed. Here was the place most private to a Red'Und, his enclosure, a place of rest, of contemplation and darkness, that served to focus the mind and recharge the body. If ever he needed his private place, it was now.
He crawled in and closed the lid. And his eyes, after that, arranging himself comfortably. A warm sheet lay at the back of the enclosure, and he pulled it over himself, plumped the pillows beneath his head, and gave a sigh and actually smiled. Nothing was better for the soul than one's enclosure.
Again in his mind's eye he could see the wainwright's son, his smile, and the sweet way he had looked at John. Part of that had been the response to the blood call, of that John was sure. He had been radiating his blood lust and desire, and Rendy had responded to it as any positive human prey would do - with interest. But also in the mixture of things being traded was an honest attraction - Rendy had found John's dark hair and intense green eyes compelling, and the square of his jaw and the evenness of his features enchanting.
John sighed to himself, picturing the other boy's smile, the flash of his white teeth, the cute way his nose wrinkled as he laughed.
John opened his eyes, the sound suddenly intense among his thoughts. The Red'Und were possessed of acute eyesight and hearing, and there could be no mistaking the soft tones in the silence of the room.
John pushed up the lid of the enclosure, listening. The sound had come from the direction of the outer wall.
He sat up, looked at the narrow double doors leading out onto the room's small balcony. Surely that was the sound of something striking the glass?
John climbed out of the enclosure, went to the doors and looked out. Several small pebbles lay on the stones beyond the glass panes.
A wonderful thought came to him then. He was unable not to grin in delight as he pulled the doors inward and stepped out onto the balcony. The stones were cool beneath his bare feet as he moved to the railing and looked downward to the lawn. A row of shrubbery lay directly beneath the balcony, and a dark shape suddenly detached itself and moved out into the light from the entry.
The other boy waved, grinning up at him. "May I come up, m'lord?'
John wanted to gush like a small girl, but managed to retain some level of composure as he nodded and motioned the boy over to the stonework of the outer wall. There the brickwork that outlined the window beneath afforded handholds and footholds, and Rendy climbed slowly upwards until he could grasp the railing of the balcony. At that point John gave in somewhat to his lust, reached out for the other boy's arms, and easily pulled him up and over the railing and set him back on his feet.
The look of surprise on Rendy's face made John smile.
"Gawd, but you're a strong one!" Rendy said softly, rubbing at his wrists where John's hands had grasped him. "Like havin' me dad toss me about, it was."
"You came back," John returned, just as softly.
For a moment their eyes simply locked, and they stared at each other in silence.
And then Rendy nodded. "I had to," he whispered.
John reached out and gently took the other boy's wrist, led him back into the bedroom and closed the doors. He pulled the curtains across the glass panes, shutting out the night.
Then he moved to stand in front of the other boy, and they watched each other again in silence.
Finally, Rendy sighed. "Beautiful, ya are. What might you be wearin' 'neath that gown, I wonder?"
John smiled. "Not a thing."
The other boy squeezed his eyes shut, and swayed gently back and forth. "Oh! What's happenin' to me? I don't...I mean..."
John stepped all the way to the other boy, put his hands on Rendy's waist, leaned in and kissed him.
The boy tensed in shock; and then he simply sagged against John. Rendy's arms came up to encircle him, and the kiss grew long and deeply passionate as they went exploring in each other's mouths.
John could taste the other boy's soul. He was instantly aware of the electrical impulses that coursed along the boy's nerves, of the elements that made up Rendy's flesh and his blood, of the beat of his heart as it pushed that blood through his arteries and veins, and the feel of air moving in and out of his lungs. Just below that awareness was the sense of the other processes of the boy's body, all suddenly just there, all suddenly clamoring for attention - not the least of which was the immediate expansion of Rendy's penis within his pants, the swelling of his testicles as they filled with beautiful, intense blood.
"Gawd," Rendy breathed, pulling back. "Me fuckin' dick is trying to come straight through me pants."
John grinned, loving the other boy's earthy verbiage. Having grown up in a proper household, he was seldom exposed to the more common aspects of the language.
"Your fuckin' dick, is it?" John asked, grinning.
"Yah. You want it?" Rendy pushed his face against John's. "'Cause I certainly do be wantin' you ta have it."
In answer, John began unbuttoning the other boy's shirt, until he could pull it off of him. Rendy looked down at John's hands as they ran slowly over the flesh of his chest and belly, and closed his eyes as John tucked his fingertips inside the waist of Rendy' pants and rubbed them against the flesh of his loins. The pants were tied with a string, and John pulled the knot free, and undid the front. Rendy kept his eyes closed as John sank to his knees and slid off the other boy's boots, lifting first one foot, and then the other. And then John was taking Rendy's pants down, and the thin undergarment he wore beneath them.
The wainwright's son finally opened his eyes again as John pressed his face into the boy's pubes, gathering the scent of them, turning his head as he slid his face upwards against Rendy's belly to kiss him there, and lick him there, and taste him there.
Rendy smiled as John raised his arms, and then he grasped the sleeves of John's nightgown and pulled it off of him. John stood, and the two boys pushed the bare flesh of their bodies together. Rendy gasped, his head falling back, and John rubbed the tip of his tongue slowly underneath the boy's chin, across the flesh of his throat.
Slowly, John began to creep sideways, towards the enclosure, taking Rendy with him. The other boy seemed unaware of where they were going until they reached the chest, with its lid raised against the wall. And then he did see it, and looked down into it at the comfort displayed with in; and then he grinned at John.
"What's this? A bed in a chest?"
John smiled. "Secret place. For secret things."
Rendy sighed, pressing his face against John's. "You'll take me there."
It was not a question. John nodded, and then he was stepping into the enclosure, and pulling Rendy with him. They laid down, into the softness and comfort of the mattress, their heads upon the pillows, their faces together.
The blood call was surging in John now, pressing him to take nourishment. But some other power was at work, too, and instead of extending his fangs and going for Rendy's neck, John instead slid down the length of the boy's body and took his penis...his dick..into his mouth. He wanted this, somehow more than he wanted the nourishment of life. He went to work, somehow just knowing what needed to be done, while Rendy's body twisted slowly beneath him in ecstasy. The other boy began to gasp, and his fingertips worked slowly in John's hair, and the tiny, invisible glands at the back of John's throat that sensed and absorbed the nourishment of blood came awake, as if sensing the nearness of the elixir now.
John was aware of those glands, for they talked to him, in an ancient language that his mind understood but his thoughts could not comprehend.
So when Rendy finally gasped one final time, and the warm fluids of his body began pumping into John's mouth, John was aware of those glands sampling and tasting and deciding on the value of what spilled over them.
And he was astounded at the verdict. Nourishment was complete.
It struck him then, that it was not solely blood that fed. Apparently, there were other bodily fluids besides blood that contained the minute factors necessary to nourish John's kind.
Even as he realized this, the rapport he shared with the glands in his throat warned him that this nourishment was a dose too small to last until the next dark of the moon.
A quarter of that, the inner voice decided.
John smiled, swallowing the last of Rendy's offering. He would need to repeat this action within a week. If not sooner.
"'Twas fuckin' amazin, it was," Rendy finally breathed, as John settled back beside him. Rendy pulled John closer, and kissed him. "I want to be doin' you, as well."
John had no problem with that, not at all.
Rendy proved to be as passionate at giving as he was at receiving, and when John finally shuddered out his reply he was convinced that nothing he ever did in life after this would ever quite equal this moment.
Afterwards, they cuddled together and kissed.
"Will you stay the night?" John asked. "Can you stay the night?"
Rendy nodded. "Fuckin' right I can." He looked around the interior of the enclosure, and smiled at John. "Never would I have imagined the pleasure to be had havin' me dick sucked in a box!"
"We can sleep here," John said then. "Or go to the bed. Your choice."
Rendy pulled him closer, nuzzled his face. "Right here is fine, m'lord."
"Call me John" John said.
Rendy pulled back and smiled. "I want to hold'ya all night, John."
"I think I can deal with that," John returned, kissing his new boyfriend. He reached up, grasped the edge of the lid, and began to lower it.
Rendy looked up, and suddenly stuck an arm up, stopping the lid. "Will we be locked in?"
John laughed, lowering his arm and pulling the sheet up over them. "Of course not. One push, and you'll be out."
Rendy grinned at him. "You're sure now? Might be fun to be locked in here with such a beautiful lad."
John sighed. "Just close the fuckin' lid and go to sleep."
Rendy let the lid sink down, until they were in darkness. John drew him closer, and kissed him.
He was glad he had not had to enchant Rendy, nor take from him something the boy would likely be horrified to know he was giving.
This way was much better. And it was much more fun getting his nourishment like this, too. Certainly more pleasurable. He would simply have to feed more often, and that was certainly not something John would hate doing.
He smiled, wondering what his father would think about this, when he told him.
If he told him.
But - maybe not. Some things, perhaps, should remain underneath the lid, in the dark.
Some things were simply too wonderful to share.
This story is part of the 2016 story challenge "Inspired by a Phrase - Close the Lid". The other stories may be found at the challenge home page. Please read them, too. The voting period of 4 to 25 January 2016 is when the voting is open. This story may be rated, below, against a set of criteria, and may be rated against other stories on the competition home page.
This challenge was to write a story based on the phrase below.
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