9. Knox

CHAPTER NINE

KNOX

Our neighborhood back in the city had always had a feral cat problem. I’d never thought of it as a problem, so much, because I liked feral cats.

Thing was, when you approached one, it didn’t matter if you had the best or worst of intentions, the cat brought its own baggage to that interaction. If lots of humans had kicked it in the past, it wouldn’t be inclined to purr and let you pet it. It’d hiss and take a swipe at you.

Emmanuel was a cat who’d been kicked over and over, for fuck only knew how long. He was a vampire, so he could be ancient for all I knew. Hell, he might not even know how old he was, with how controlling he said his mother had been.

So when I’d been there, the next best target when his mother was gone, he’d hissed and scratched me. Well, sort of. Hard to really compare an exchange of blowjobs with being scratched.

The forcing me to do his bidding, on the other hand...

Well, I didn’t think we were entirely past that, but like I said, feral cats. You could feed one of those cats for months and years, and slowly, they’d learn to trust you. They’d come in close and let you pet them. But every once in a while, they’d turn and scratch you, because they were still a feral cat, whether you were friends or not.

So either you had to not be friends, or you had to accept that sometimes, you were gonna get scratched.

Me, I’d always been okay getting scratched sometimes. It was worth the risk of a scratch or two, to have friends who wouldn’t lie to you or betray you.

Besides which, my life had already been crumbling to dust. It was time to take a chance on something new.

Having decided all that, I smiled at Emmanuel. “I’m not planning on going anywhere. I’ve got a lot of stuff to teach you about modern life. Wait till you discover nightclubs. I feel like you’re going to like dancing a lot.”

His bright eyes went round, and he looked to the door—like he was expecting his mother to come busting in, screeching about sins and dancing and the devil. It was going to take him a while to move past that, I suspected. It had probably taken him a long time to get to that point, and a lot of training.

“Now, if you’re not gonna come down here, we’re going to have to get out of the tub before you can... what was it you called it? Inspect your new plaything?” I was teasing a little, hoping I could get away with it. The way he ducked his head, he would have flushed, if his skin did that.

“I didn’t?—”

“It’s fine,” I promised. “Can’t say I’ve ever been anyone’s plaything before. No one ever wanted to play with me that much.”

That, apparently, got his back up. “Why not? You’re perfectly attractive. Big and strong. No pox scars. Straight, white teeth.”

That... well, that said a lot about how old he was, didn’t it? I didn’t know what “pox” was, but I suspected it was one of those old timey illnesses that people didn’t really get anymore. And I hadn’t had any dental work done, so my straight white teeth were just the way I was born combined with the magic of toothbrushes.

As for the big and strong part, well, again, it was just the body I’d been born with, combined with years of mostly manual labor for a living. I wasn’t an athlete or anything.

Still, it was nice to be appreciated.

So I smiled at him, giving up on the whole getting out of the tub thing, and on him taking the initiative. He wanted to jump in and take charge, and frankly, I kinda wanted him to. But first, he needed to know that it was okay. That his mother wasn’t going to come screaming into the room, and I wasn’t going to change my mind, and no vengeful god was going to come murder him for the crime of existing while queer.

I slid around until we were sitting next to each other, and he looked like he was going to have a heart attack. I tried the gentlest smile I could. “Can’t say I’ve ever been called attractive before. Not that I’m worried about it, just, I never spent any time with anyone who might have thought of me like that.”

The look he gave me was dubious, but I’d at least distracted him from worrying about getting caught having fun. So I pressed my luck. I reached across and cupped his face in my palm. His cheek was smooth under my hand, marking him barely a man when he... died? Became a vampire? Either way, he’d never grow a beard. It was okay, I could grow enough stubble for the both of us and then some. He was beautiful as he was.

So I leaned in and touched my lips to his.

He gasped at first, but didn’t pull away. After a moment, he transformed into the starving creature of the night before. Not desperate for my blood this time, but for contact. For a connection. For the touch of another man, that wasn’t steeped in pain and future punishment.

A second later, he was climbing atop me, grabbing my wrists in his hands to steady himself on the slippery porcelain. Also, to show me where he wanted me. To press my wrists into the edge of the tub as he straddled my body, clenching his thighs around my waist with almost alarming strength.

In an instant, my cock was at attention. It had been growing in interest since he’d come to the doorway, his lithe frame lounging in the door like a vampire in a movie, but this? Having him climb onto me? This was everything I wanted but hadn’t ever been able to talk to previous partners about. I was a big strong guy, so I was supposed to be pushy. I was supposed to demand and be forceful.

Emmanuel jerked atop me, shaking his head and turning to loose the stopper in the tub, letting the water start to drain. When he turned back to me and I raised a brow, he shrugged. “Can’t have you getting hurt. Your head might slip under. You’d drown.”

A curious feeling fluttered in my guts. Someone cared if I dropped dead. Someone who wasn’t Pidge, who didn’t need me to take care of him, not really. How strange.

I ignored the stinging behind my eyes at the very idea, and instead, pressed my hips up to meet his. “Fair enough. Wouldn’t want to get hurt while I’m taking care of you.”

He bit his lip, clearly not sure if I meant what I was saying. But back to the feral cats, there was only one way to prove that intention: keep showing up. Keep feeding him. It wasn’t a short-term project.

Getting off? That was pretty short-term.

As though he’d read my mind, Emmanuel leaned back to look at my cock, then back up to my face. “Can... can I?”

“Of course,” I agreed, though I didn’t have a fucking clue what he was asking me. That didn’t change my answer.

For a man who’d been sheltered so completely for his whole life, Emmanuel knew how to work a cock. And he knew what to do with it. Without a question, without a word, like he’d been dreaming of this moment his whole damn life, he lifted up slightly, positioned his body above me, and slowly, inch by inch, lowered himself onto my dick.

My head fell back against the porcelain with a thump at the feeling of his tight, cool body squeezing around me. It wasn’t... wrong, exactly. Just different than any sex I’d had before. His body had been warmed by the bath, but he wasn’t hot like a living human inside. Tight, though, and the friction of movement was warming everything up as he went, sliding onto me, then off and back on with speed I could barely register.

Fuck, it was so . . . so much.

And his face was radiant, almost glowing with joy as he fucked himself on me, like he’d discovered the secret to living his best life, and it turned out that secret was ex-con cock.

The water sloshed over us as it drained, but he paid it no mind, pulling himself up and dropping down again and again, making no noise but some approximation of breathing, the slap of flesh and squeak of skin on porcelain was the only noise in the room.

Well, until I groaned aloud when he squeezed my cock with his perfect ass. His eyes flew open, and he looked to the door. Then he grinned and turned back to me.

“Do it again,” he whispered, tightening around my cock, dragging another moan out of me. So I gave it to him. He rode me, and I moaned, long and loud, letting him know exactly what he was doing to me.

He started laughing. It was strange, and maybe a little sad, but so did I. We’d both survived. Him his mother and me modern life as a poor ex con, and there we were, with this new chance, a fresh start. In each other.

I reached down and ran a hand over his cock. He squeaked and the laughter cut off, but he thrust into my hand, then back onto my cock again. And again. So I wrapped my hand around him, calluses and all, and gave him a little squeeze. It only took a few more strokes after that before he was tensing, arching up and coming in spurts across my chest. Just the way he clenched around me was enough to push me over the edge after him, and lightning coursed through my veins as I came inside him.

The last of the water drained away with a gurgle. He looked down at me, a truly open look on his face for the first time since we’d met. “You won’t leave.”

“I won’t,” I agreed. “Hell, I left my apartment. Told the landlord I wasn’t coming back. I have everything I own with me.”

His smile, at that, was radiant.