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This was not how Mitch envisioned his night going.
It had barely been a week since he'd arrived in Purpee, and things were already going... well, not badly, but definitely not great. Things were going from amazing to absolutely terrible at the flip of a coin and there wasn't much he could do about it aside from continue doing what he was good at: stalking around.
He broke into the local archive to steal the files that his coterie wanted to take a look at. He followed people home from the shadows, gently pulling them aside for very quiet and careful conversations in which he repeatedly reiterated that he was not a kidnapper or trying to mug them, please stop giving me money I really don't want it, to get information out of them. He jumped across rooftops with more caution; according to HJ and LaVonte, they wanted to avoid another Beth's Husband situation, which... fair. It was hard to maintain the Masquerade when you fall through someone's ceiling and eat their husband, even if they're a truly abysmal person, but he still ate whatever ne'er-do-wells he could find, just with more discretion. That was made easier to do seeing as he was now eating alone. Bat Child was busier in the nights now, dealing with snooping around the local university.
And that was fine! It was a good thing that she was going to the university every now and again. Really! He wholeheartedly supported her in doing so, she deserved to be able to check out zoology courses and... whatever else people went to do at university.
Still. Draining bad people of their blood was less fun without her by his side.
Coincidentally, it was shortly after he offhandedly made a comment about this loneliness (not overtly of course, because he didn't want Bat Child to potentially overhear him and feel bad about going to Purpee State University) and just as he was about to find someone new to eat that night, when he saw Zaeth waiting outside.
He was on a motorcycle. Mitch didn't know when Zaeth managed to acquire a new one - maybe it was a consolation gift from HJ of some kind, or just stolen from some poor schmuck - but Zaeth revved it impatiently at him. It looked nice, he could admit, even with his limited motorcycle knowledge; a sleek cherry red, undeniably eye-catching, which seemed to be what Zaeth was going for most of the time.
Zaeth revved the motorcycle again. Mitch, snapped out of his head, glanced over at him.
"You coming?" Zaeth asked. He patted the seat (which was definitely not made for two people, especially not someone of his size) and stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
"What?"
"I was on my way to go hunting anyway, and HJ and LaVonte are insistent about not travelling alone. So. Are you coming?"
"No, no, I got that part," He said quickly, feeling all at once like a fool. Zaeth just wanted to go hunting together. Not a big deal, at least to him. "Just-" Why me and not Madelaine, or literally anyone else? "Yeah, sure."
He crossed the distance from the door of their Airbnb to the road, a gap that was only a few feet but felt instead like he was crossing an entire continent, to stand awkwardly next to the bike.
There was no way that the two of them were going to fit on that thing. Logically, he knew that. He was too big, and his proportions were too weird, and he didn't know how to ride a motorcycle in the first place. Zaeth kept looking at him, and Mitch didn't want to know what Zaeth saw in him in that moment. Probably nothing good.
He cleared his throat. "Shall we head out?"
Zaeth looked at him a little longer - he fought to keep still, to not fidget, because why was he looking at him and why wouldn't he stop - before nodding in agreement. "It'll be faster if you hop on, you know."
"I won't fit," Mitch said quickly.
Zaeth appraised him slowly. "I bet you wouldn't."
"Excuse me?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine. Just-" Zaeth easily dismounted the vehicle, swinging his leg over the side, and the tightness of his jeans accentuated his legs pretty well, and Mitch immediately diverted his gaze to the pavement. Not helping with the pervert allegations, he thought bitterly. "You hop on, I'll climb into your lap, and that way we can both fit, and I'll still be able to drive."
"Okay," He hesitantly clambered on. It sounded like an awkward proposition, pretty unlikely to work, but he didn't have the energy to argue with Zaeth. He was hungry. The seat underneath him was cool, and definitely too small, but he could probably make it work. He'd been in less comfortable arrangements than this. He set his feet against the ground and leaned back, giving Zaeth as much space as possible.
Zaeth did not take advantage of the space Mitch tried to give him. He slid onto the seat with enviable dexterity and settled himself comfortably in Mitch's lap, his back braced against Mitch's chest, and Mitch became forcefully aware of how much bigger he was. How wrong he was in comparison to Zaeth's normal, human-sized frame. Zaeth's body seemed to conform to the contours of Mitch's, their legs pressed flush against each other as Zaeth set his feet against the pedals and revved the engine dramatically. Mitch's hands hovered in the air uncertainly. Zaeth was holding onto the handlebars already. Should he just have his hands hang at his sides? That didn't seem safe. There wasn't anything he could hold onto without in being awkward, and he didn't want to grab something lest Zaeth make some kind of embarrassing comment-
"You can hold onto me," Zaeth said. His tone was carefully casual, but there was something unusual about it that Mitch couldn't pinpoint. "I don't mind." When Mitch continued to nervously hover his hands, Zaeth reached back to grab onto him and forcefully place those hands on his waist. "There. See? It didn't kill you."
Mitch's brain short-circuited, and he didn't have the mental functioning necessary to reply.
He could wrap his hands fully around Zaeth's waist, if he tried. His fingertips were nearly touching as-is, and he wasn't even holding on tightly. Zaeth shuddered lightly when he tightened his grip, and he told himself that it was just to keep Zaeth steady.
The engine revved a final time before, finally, they sped off into the night, cruising down the street.
It was nice to be moving this fast without being on the underside of moving vehicles. Mitch could actually appreciate the view better this way; sure, there wasn't that much to look at, considering how Zaeth drove so fast that their surroundings were rendered blurred shapes barely resembling buildings, and how Purpee wasn't much to look at anyway, but it was the principle that counted. Admiring the town that would be his home for the foreseeable future was easier like this. Most of the lights were off, given how late it was, and there was a certain vibe to the town that Mitch kind of liked.
It was quiet, which meant that the ride was a lot more peaceful than it would've been back in San Francisco (and faster, given how little traffic there was here). The wind was pleasant too, whipping at his body as they shot down roads, making his coat billow behind him in a suitably dramatic fashion.
He even found himself enjoying Zaeth's company! They rode in silence, for the most part, and it was probably one of the best interactions he'd had with Zaeth since they first got to Purpee.
In the corner of his eye, Mitch saw someone follow someone else into an alley. The quiet of the night was interrupted by the dull glint of a drawn knife and the whispered yell of a would-be mugger.
"Stop the bike," Mitch whispered, leaning forward to speak into Zaeth's ear. They pulled over on the side of the road, Zaeth dismounting first and Mitch following soon after.
He almost missed the feeling of Zaeth's body against his.
He tried not to read too much into that.
Quietly, he stalked towards the alley's entrance to observe the crime. The mugger was dressed in a comically stereotypical fashion - dark hoodie pulled up over their hand, mask on the lower half of their face, dark jeans - and they pointed a knife at a young woman who was hurriedly rifling through her purse with shaking hands. She pulled out her wallet and handed it over, stepping back. Even from afar, he could see a membrane of unshed tears across her eyes.
The mugger bent down to grab her wallet. He slid it into his jean pocket and stood almost casually in front of his victim. He shifted his weight onto one leg, tapping his finger against the hilt of the knife. Then he moved one leg slightly backwards, as if preparing to lunge forwards.
That was the moment that Mitch pounced.
He lunged first, not giving the mugger time to panic as he tackled him to the ground. The woman screamed at the thing leaping from the shadows. Mitch couldn't blame her. He knew what he looked like, and even if she couldn't really see him, she had every right to be scared.
He wasn't natural. He was a monster, no matter how hard he tried to be good.
Zaeth wandered out from around the corner and confidently strolled past Mitch, who had situated himself on top of the writhing criminal. He leaned forwards and grabbed the mugger's wrist, twisting it so that he dropped his blade, then picked it up himself to toss it far away. With the criminal disarmed, Mitch glanced up to see exactly what Zaeth was up to.
"Wha- who are you?! Please, I don't- I don't have anything worth taking, I'm just trying to get home, please don't- don't hurt me!" Tears rolled freely down her cheeks now. Her legs shook and seemed to be on the verge of buckling.
Zaeth easily stepped up to her with a lazy, easy grin. He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her up against the wall, then down to the floor. She didn't try to fight him. Maybe that was the worst part. She accepted Zaeth pushing her around and as soon as she hit the floor, she drew her legs up to her chest and began to rock back and forth, crying even harder. Zaeth kept smiling at her, both hands now on her shoulders and rubbing them gently. It looked almost comforting. Almost sweet. Almost genuine and tender.
Mitch turned away, not wanting to look. He averted his gaze and winced when he heard Zaeth's fangs sink into her neck and the woman's muffled scream of panic, presumably silenced by a hand on her mouth.
Focus on the criminal. He flipped the mugger over and sat back down, putting all of his considerable weight on his body. He swore he heard one of the mugger's bones snap. The mugger opened his mouth to scream as well before Mitch roughly grabbed his head and shoved it to the side, better exposing his neck. He leaned forward and, after pullin down his mask, bit down sharply, feeling the mugger's body spasm.
As soon as the taste of blood touched his tongue, he was gone. He grabbed the body's shoulders roughly and dug his fingers into them, clawing at the fabric of their hoodie and leaving it in tatters. The body kept shaking and pumping blood straight to him and he drank it down gluttonously. The taste of adrenaline was a familiar one to him by this point, but no less delightful.
They deserved that fear, having inflicted it on so many others. And Mitch got to taste, firsthand, just how afraid his meals were when he drained them. In his mind, it was a well-deserved karmic punishment for them.
Not to mention the fact that if he was a monster, then at least he could help get rid of the other monsters in the world. Make things better however possible.
When he finished, he cleaned away the excess blood that dripped down the collar of his meal, then shakily rose to his feet.
Zaeth was still drinking. The woman was still cognizant, still absolutely terrified. When he saw that Mitch was down, he shuffled over and, grabbing the woman's jaw, moved it to the side in a silent offering.
Disgust rose in his chest. That was- no. He couldn't. This woman hadn't done anything wrong, aside from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She didn't deserve to be drained.
"I-"
"You don't have to drain her fully. Just a sip. Besides, she doesn't mind. Right, Carla?"
The woman - Carla - nodded feebly. Mitch levelled a glare at Zaeth, who waited for a response from him. And maybe it was a bad thing, but even fresh after eating, the siren song of blood was still tempting.
Besides, if Carla was all right with it (even if her consent in this situation was probably a little... dubious, to say the least), then there couldn't be too much harm. He just had to restrain himself. He could do that. Mitch didn't know a day in his vampiric life that he didn't use restraint in some way or another.
He knelt down on the ground and bit into Carla's neck as painlessly as possible. She let out a sharp hiss and he winced reflexively. Panic kicked in at the back of his mind. He should stop. This was- wasn't this hurting her, having two vampires drain her of blood? It was wrong. He shouldn't be doing this-
"You're fine," Zaeth told him, his hand gently squeezing the back of Mitch's neck. "Keep drinking."
He kept drinking. He could hear Carla's fluttering breath, taste the adrenaline on her tongue, and feel the way she shook under his hands. Even though he kind of wanted to pull back and stop, he... her blood was delicious. Much nicer than the mugger that he had been drinking only seconds earlier. She tasted a little of alcohol, of something sweet and sharp, undeniably enticing. He sank deeper and deeper, feeling his body melt against hers as he drank.
Zaeth's hand guided him back, drawing him away before he accidentally killed her. If someone told him earlier that Zaeth was going to stop him from nearly draining someone to the point of death, he would have wondered whether that person was fully sane. In fact, if someone told him anything that had happened so far that night, he would have severely doubted them.
He lost himself in staring at Zaeth. Was this what humans felt when they looked at him, lost in awe, hypnotised by his presence? Zaeth's attention was fully on him. Not on poor Carla, not on the limp body a few feet away, on him.
He felt greedy, wanting to never be ripped away from this moment. He felt terrified of what Zaeth would say, seeing the sallow complexion of his face, the way his skin didn't sit right, the monstrous proportions of his immortal body. He wanted to run away and pull up his mask and roll into the shadows just as much as he wanted to stay firmly rooted to the spot.
Most of all, he felt seen.
Zaeth didn't flinch upon looking at him, in all of his resplendent repulsiveness. There was a glint in his eyes that Mitch couldn't discern as his gaze roamed freely. Mitch fought the urge to shy away; he forced himself to remain still, to welcome the observation.
Eventually, Zaeth smiled, and the moment shattered. He rose to his feet and Mitch followed suit. What else could he do? Stay on the floor next to a steadily-cooling corpse and a woman about to pass out from fear and blood loss?
He carefully picked Carla up, mindful not to agitate the twin puncture wounds on her neck, both lazily leaking blood, and carried her a little ways away from the mugger's corpse. Confident that the police wouldn't try to arrest her for killing that mugger, he slipped back to grab her wallet and tuck it into her purse. Hopefully she'd be alright in the morning. She lost a lot of blood...
A hand landed on the bottom of his shoulder-blade. Zaeth's fingers gently slipped down to his waist, resting there gently. Like it wasn't already insane that he was touching Mitch in the first place. "She'll be fine. We should probably head back before HJ has an aneurysm."
"Why would he have an aneurysm?" Mitch questioned. He hopped onto the motorcycle and Zaeth, once more, climbed on top of him.
"Because I didn't tell him I was heading out."
"...He doesn't know where you are?"
"Technically he doesn't know where either of us are. Nobody does, aside from maybe Madelaine, but she won't bother telling him because it's funny to see him stress out." Zaethe stretched, his spine bending in a languid, catlike fashion that Mitch struggles to not pay attention to. He shimmied, trying to get more comfortable in Mitch's lap.
This was a nightmare. This was an absolute nightmare. This was his karma for draining an innocent person's blood, it had to be. There was no other explanation.
...The bike hadn't moved yet.
Mitch opened his mouth to ask why they weren't heading back to the Airbnb, but Zaeth beat him to the punch. "We have time before we have to go back, you know."
"So?"
He glanced over his shoulder just so that Mitch could see him roll his eyes. "So we can probably hang around a little longer first."
"I... think you're trying to insinuate something that I'm not picking up on," He confessed.
"I'm suggesting that we fuck."
Time stopped for a moment. Mitch felt his jaw slacken and his mouth dropped open. Everything felt too quiet, too hot, too stifling, and a crawling itch spread through his body, accompanied by a warmth uncharacteristic of a body like his.
What the fuck.
"What the fuck," He muttered, unable to think of anything else. As soon as he realised what he'd said, he coughed into his fist nervously. "Um. I mean- well. Huh."
Zaeth was watching him carefully now. He hopped off the bike and Mitch had a second of pure panic (he said something bad, oh god, this was not what he thought would be happening this night, oh god oh god oh god-) before hopping back on, but this time with his legs straddling Mitch's hips. His arms wrapped around his neck and hung there limply.
Mitch could easily throw Zaeth off his body. It would be as easy as breathing, if he were still mortal and needed to do so. He was much bigger than Zaeth and a hell of a lot stronger, too. It wouldn't be difficult.
Instead he stayed perfectly still, like a prey animal locking eyes with its predator and hoping foolishly that if it stayed very still then it wouldn't be pounced on.
Then, slowly, he placed his hands on Zaeth's hips and squeezed them gently.
He had no clue what he was doing. Nor what was wrong with him. Maybe it was the excess blood pumping through his body that had him feeling all loopy and making irrational decisions. Maybe it was Zaeth's enthralling nature.
Maybe he just genuinely wanted this.
"We do still need to get back, you know," He said quietly, afraid of breaking... whatever this was.
"Then you can drive," Zaeth said simply. "And I'll take the reins."
"That doesn't sound..."
Zaeth grinned. It wasn't the kind of grin that drew people into his presence. It was wild and feral and untamed, the smile made by a predator that had trapped its prey in a corner, watching it realise that it had nowhere to run. It was rabid. His fangs indented his lower lip, his eyes were sharp. "Like a good idea?" He teased.
"Safe. It doesn't sound safe." Especially not when Zaeth had smashed his head against a pool only a few days ago. He didn't seem to care about that much, though. One of his hands left Mitch's neck to rest against his pectoral.
"Then you'd better drive carefully."
Zaeth surged forward, smashing their mouths together. Mitch froze for a second before squeezing Zaeth's hips and pressing them harder against his own. Zaeth moaned against his mouth and it sent shivers through his body. He let Zaeth coax his lips open and gasped when he felt a tongue wet his lips before pushing further into his mouth.
This was the most action he'd gotten since... he couldn't remember. Maybe even before he felt the Embrace. He tried to ease into it as best he could, letting Zaeth guide the kiss and doing whatever he could to try and reciprocate. It was a little clumsy - their tongues tangled together in a way that he didn't think was supposed to happen when kissing somebody - but Zaeth didn't seem to mind.
When Zaeth pulled back, Mitch instinctively chased his lips before forcing himself to stop.
"I don't know how to drive a motorcycle," He confessed hastily. An artificial blush spread to his cheeks. It must have made him look rather ridiculous.
"It's not hard. I can guide you while you drive. Easy as that."
He fumbled to get his feet on the pedals, but once they were on, it wasn't the worst. His legs were hiked up at an admittedly awkward angle. The engine turned on, courtesy of Zaeth, and the motorcycle began to haltingly move forwards. The two of them were jolted up and down for at least a minute before they got moving properly, and the ride smoothed out. He was certain that the blush on his face had spread to the tips of his ears, humiliatingly enough.
This time, he kissed Zaeth. He tasted slightly of blood, which was to be expected, given that they'd eaten not that long ago. He sucked on Zaeth's bottom lip, gripping the handlebars tightly and trying not to get distracted when Zaeth started groping him through his shirt. The taste of blood filled his mouth and Zaeth sucked in a sharp gasp, clutching onto him harder. He rolled Zaeth's lip between his teeth.
"Fuck," Zaeth panted, and Mitch could feel his breath in his mouth. His lips were kiss-swollen, an angry red as blood dripped down from the split skin, and Mitch dove forwards to lick the blood from his face directly. In that exact moment, he steered the motorcycle left; Zaeth yelped, then let out a laugh, grinning infectiously. "Not bad, Darkness Man."
"Haven't done enough if you're still talking," He muttered.
"You wanna shut me up, pretty boy?" Mitch's hands spasmed against the handlebars and he quickly readjusted his grip, trying to calm himself down. Unfortunately for him, Zaeth took notice. "You like that? You like it when I call you pretty boy?"
"Shut up."
"That's not a no, pretty boy," Before Mitch could protest, Zaeth tilted his head to press a kiss at the hinge of his jaw, his neck having to crane upwards in order to reach.
He wished he had his hands free instead of having to focus on not crashing them into a building, so that he could press Zaeth impossibly closer, could hold onto him with a gentle fervour, with the kind of tenderness that a thing like him is undeserving of, and yet a thing like Zaeth demands. He wanted to touch only what he was willing to desecrate, to worship what would be defiled by hands as vile as his, anything so that all of this sensation was not wholly on himself. He didn't deserve this.
While he didn't have his hands free, he did have hips and a pelvis.
He bucked his hips up, grinding against Zaeth's, albeit not with the most finesse. Zaeth tried to grind against him in return, but Mitch sharply hit a turn, effectively stopping Zaeth in his tracks. He whined impatiently.
"The sooner we're back, the sooner we can take care of this," Mitch soothed, leaning forwards to press a kiss to the crown of Zaeth's hair. It also doubled as a way to hide the artificial flush in his malformed features. He took it as a plus. "Can't really do much on a motorcycle."
"You'd be surprised," Zaeth grunted.
Mitch thrust his hips up, his pace irregular and unrelenting, then abruptly stopped. "Will you- can you behave until we get back home?"
"We won't get any privacy at the Airbnb," Zaeth whispered, surging up to nip at Mitch's earlobe. "It's better if we do it out here. Unless you don't mind an audience, of course. Why would you? Pretty boy like you, you probably wouldn't mind people watching. Then they could see how cute you look right now."
"Don't call me that," He tried to hide his face from Zaeth whilst still keeping his eyes on the road. He wasn't very successful.
"Would you prefer if I called you a pervert?" The words felt like a slap to the face. Mitch's mouth fell open as Zaeth continued. "Bet a pervert like you wouldn't mind showing me off. You'd probably like people to watch me impaled on your cock, wouldn't you? You'd get off on it, making me squirm as you fucked me from behind or something. Or would you rather watch me fuck myself? That's something perverts like, isn't it?"
The mental image hit him like a freight train. He hadn't seen his body fully nude - couldn't bring himself to do so, knowing that he'd not like what he saw, knowing that his new body would be disfigured and warped and utterly grotesque - but it was almost startlingly easy to picture what Zaeth had described. He imagined Zaeth riding him, panting and shaking as he brought himself to orgasm. He imagined standing behind Zaeth, bending him over a table, reverently running his hand down the ridges of his spine before thrusting into him.
He didn't want to think about it. If he started to think of those things, he'd only be disappointed, because who in their right mind would actually want that with him? By bringing them to the Airbnb, Mitch was giving Zaeth an easy out. A way to avoid going all the way with him. A way to avoid seeing Zaeth's disgust at the sight of his body.
"Stop," He whined. Even to him, it sounded pathetic.
"What do you prefer, then?" Zaeth sucked a kiss into his neck.
Mitch flexed his hands and kept his attention on the road. He felt Zaeth's hands splayed across his chest, felt them grope at his pectorals and trail lower, down to his belt. He let out an involuntary moan as he felt something begin to stir.
"Use your words, Darkness Man. What do you prefer?"
He couldn't meet Zaeth's eyes. "Pretty boy," He mumbled. They were almost back at the Airbnb; just a few more minutes and they'd be there.
A smug grin settled on his face. He reached up to cup Mitch's cheek, thumb swiping across his lip. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
Mitch rutted his hips up and watched Zaeth toss his head back and enjoy the ride. Hands fumbled to undo his belt and Mitch let it happen, allowed his belt to be pulled off and his fly to go down.
"Take a detour," Zaeth purred into his ear.
"We're almost back," Mitch protested. I'm giving you an out here, why aren't you taking it?
"Yeah, and I don't wanna be back home yet. I wanna ride your dick on a motorcycle. So take a detour, pretty boy." He rolled Mitch's earlobe between his teeth and grabbed his hips, holding them steady to grind against them.
He... wow. Wow.
He actually wanted this. He actually wanted to have sex with him. Him, of all people.
"Fuck it," Mitch steered off in a different direction. One that would require them to take a big loop around town in order to get back to the Airbnb. A route that would give them plenty of time to do something.
Zaeth grabbed his cock with one hand and began to stroke it, coaxing it into hardening, whilst the other was gripping onto Mitch's shoulder. He practically glowed in the dim nighttime light. Two creatures of the night, two monsters, enjoying a ritual that was antithetical to their nature. Something transcendent and beautiful. Mitch caught his lips and kissed him deeply, tilting his head to get a better angle. Their fangs clicked against each other. He smiled, pulling back just a little, just enough that he could see Zaeth's eyes staring directly into his.
He felt his cock harden, and Zaeth must have been satisfied with it, as he rose off Mitch's lap to hover precariously over his dick. Mitch took one hand off of the handlebar to hold onto his hip and keep him steady. It would be awkward if Zaeth went flying off the motorcycle while Mitch's dick was out. Best to avoid that scenario entirely.
Zaeth stared down at his cock and swallowed. "Damn. I was right." Mitch didn't even try to ask what that meant. He didn't want to know if Zaeth was mocking him.
"Be careful," Mitch told him.
Zaeth rolled his eyes and, without any preamble, sank down onto his cock.
Mitch felt muscles clench around him. "All good?" He asked, keeping his hand on Zaeth's hip. He was terrified of accidentally crashing, but his concern over keeping Zaeth from falling off won out.
"Yeah. Just- just getting used to it." He gripped Mitch's shoulders with both hands and inhaled deeply, then sank down even further. He let out a breathy moan as he took it in deeper and deeper. "Fuck. You're so-" Gasping, Zaeth dug his fingers into his shoulders without warning, his face contorting with pleasure. His muscles convulsed around Mitch's cock rapidly.
"You're wonderful," Mitch told him. "So wonderful. You're doing so well." He rolled his hips, setting a pace that he hoped was okay, and pressed his forehead against Zaeth's. Zaeth practically melted into him. "So good."
"Damn right I am," He quipped, smiling cheekily before immediately losing his composure and crying out. Zaeth bobbed up and down on his cock, panting heavily and grinning like an absolute madman. Lost in ecstasy, he was an absolute vision.
Mitch kissed his forehead. He kissed the gap between his eyebrows, the tip of his nose, kissing his way down to his lips. It was chaste compared to the other kisses they had shared, and yet it felt somehow even more intimate. Zaeth nipped at Mitch's lip to repay the favour, then outlined his lips with his tongue, a line of spit connecting them when they separated.
Little by little, Zaeth fell apart. He bobbed up and down faster, increasing his pace, and Mitch increased his own to match it. They were halfway through the loop back to the Airbnb and to be honest, the fact that the motorcycle was still running was miraculous. They must have burned so much fuel on this trip.
When Zaeth finally reached orgasm, it was quieter than he had expected. His body jerked, and he buried his face in Mitch's chest to stifle a moan, shaking as he rode his way through it. Mitch ran his free hand through Zaeth's hair, a constant string of, "Come on, you're doing so good, you're so good for me" spilling from his lips. He committed the image in front of him to his memory, memorising the way Zaeth's face against his chest felt, the soft texture of his hair, the silent streets (save for the rumbling of the engine and their combined noise) around them.
He didn't even notice he was close as well until it hit him. He tensed as the feeling washed over him, euphoric and blissful and all-encompassing, the world around him briefly falling away.
He recovered quickly enough to prevent the motorcycle from hitting a streetlamp. Not exactly his proudest moment, but at least they didn't actually hit it.
Small mercies.
Zaeth pulled himself up off of Mitch's dick, which was slowly going flaccid again, and Mitch quickly shoved it back into his pants so that Zaeth could sit back down again.
What did people say after having sex? He put both hands on the handlebars and focused on driving them to the Airbnb, his mind whizzing with thoughts. Should he try and strike up a conversation? Should he say nothing? Should he act like nothing happened, like they didn't make out and fuck on a motorcycle? What was the proper etiquette?
As if sensing where Mitch's mind was going, Zaeth sagged against Mitch's chest. "I'm sleeping in your coffin tonight," He declared softly. He looked up and met Mitch's eyes, and although the look couldn't possibly be described as tender, it certainly wasn't some kind of detachment. It wasn't the kind of look you'd give to someone before telling them that this would never happen again and that they should forget it ever happened.
...Did he want this to happen again?
"Okay," He said, and drove the rest of the way home.
---
"Where the hell were you both?" HJ said, standing in the open doorway and waiting for them. Over his shoulder, Mitch could see Madelaine and LaVonte, like kids hiding behind their parent's legs, clearly trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. A smile was plastered on his face, but Mitch knew HJ well enough to know how fake it was. His entire body was tense. He was holding onto that weird sceptre of his like it was the only thing stopping him from tearing the both of them to shreds.
They were so fucked.
"We went out for a meal," Zaeth answered easily. He swung his legs over Mitch's lap and pushed himself off the motorcycle; Mitch clambered off and, making sure that the motorcycle was definitely parked, trailed behind him up to the door. "I got a bit greedy, so we stayed out longer. Right, Darkness Man?"
He straightened up immediately. "Yeah. Zaeth told me to take a detour on the way back so he could satiate himself."
Zaeth directed a sly grin at him. He sheepishly looked down at the floor. "And I did, so you don't have to worry anymore. I'm beat, so if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna head off to my coffin for a nap." He slipped past HJ, but did not manage to escape LaVonte, who caught him with a hand on his shoulder. Mitch didn't hear what LaVonte whispered to him, but whatever he said made Zaeth glance back at him again with a wink.
"Do you mind if I head in as well?" Mitch looked at HJ and slumped his shoulders, trying to exaggerate his exhaustion. It wasn't entirely false; he was tired.
Just not in the way he hoped HJ would assume.
God, he hoped that nobody knew what they were up to. Their teasing about him being a pervert was bad enough, there was no way he'd be able to handle whatever they threw at him if they figured out that he and Zaeth had sex.
Thankfully, HJ smiled and stepped to the side, patting Mitch on his lower back and letting him head inside. He made a beeline for the basement, narrowly avoiding LaVonte and keeping his eyes trained on the floor to avoid making eye contact with Madelaine. He could only hope that she didn't know what they'd been up to - or that she'd tell people about it.
He made it to the basement and shut the door behind him, heading towards his coffin. Hopefully everyone would assume that Zaeth was already in his coffin, and if he opened the lid just enough for to hop in quickly, nobody would see-
"Darkness Man!" He jumped, barely keeping himself from screaming as Bat Child dropped down from the ceiling. "I saw Zaeth go into your coffin. Should I tell him to get out? Where will you sleep? You can probably take his coffin, but I don't think you'll fit-"
"It's fine, Bat Child. We're, uh. We're sharing tonight."
"Oh. Okay."
"Don't tell the others, though. It's best that they don't know, you know?" The words tumbled clumsily out of his mouth.
Bat Child gave him a salacious wink and nudged his sides. She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Your secret is safe with me! Now go cuddle Zaeth before he drags you into that coffin himself." She jumped back onto the ceiling and watched him.
Mitch opened the lid of his coffin and carefully climbed in, pulling the lid shut over his head. Zaeth was lying on his side, facing inwards. He couldn't see how Mitch swallowed nervously as he tried to make himself comfortable. It was more snug than he'd prefer, but he was used to that. It was an ordeal to get a coffin that would fit him, let alone give him enough space to not have every inch of his body hugging the sides.
He curled an arm under his head and let the other hang limply at his side, taking in Zaeth's appearance.
"Hey," He whispered.
Zaeth hummed in response. Mitch faltered, then tentatively moved his hand forward to grab Zaeth's wrist. He had no idea what he was doing, led only by the urge to hold onto him.
Zaeth pulled his wrist away so that he could briefly grab Mitch's hand and squeeze it. They let their hands fall between them, fingertips barely brushing each other, but it felt like the most intimate thing they'd done that night.
He was still a monster. Still hideous and something that only deserved joy when it was wreathed in shadow and hidden from prying eyes. But even monsters deserved something nice, and maybe this was it for him. Maybe this was a nice thing that, regardless of whether he truly deserved it or not, he could allow himself to have.