Growing up from a child to a man, Schneider never put belief into those myths and stories of demons, witches, ghouls, and evil creature-like beings. Never before has convincing, undeniable proof been placed under his nose. Sure, he’s heard stories of sightings, of first-hand experiences, passed down from father to son, from son to peer, but those meant nothing. Schneider is a man of faith, but he does not put faith in such laughable concepts as such.
And yet, he finds himself faced with that doubt. For he was visited in the night, when the cold was especially brutal, when his woolen blankets did far from keep him warm. He was restless. He felt disturbed, uncomfortably awake. He stared at the darkness, illuminated just slightly by the moonlight which peered in through the dusty window.
And a figure emerged, from the depth of that darkness.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” the figure had said, approaching him, where he laid upon his bed, risen onto an elbow. The figure was dressed in unimaginable cloth, his skin colored a striking red, with a helmet upon its head. The helmet is open-faced, though it was difficult to see its features beyond the net that had been pulled across its face and shoulders. Long, gloveless sleeves cover its arms. It is unusually tall, taller than Schneider himself, and strikingly muscular, while remaining gracefully slender.
“I’m not here to harm you,” the chilling voice said to him. Schneider watches the figure warily, slightly fearful but most of all, intrigued of its existence and its motive.
“Then what are you here for?” he whispers, boldly. The hairs all across Schneider’s body stood straight, his skin risen with goosebumps. His heart is racing, but his mind is calm. The helmeted being just stands there, shrouded in the shadows of his room, and then speaks lowly.
“I’m here for you."
Many months later, Schneider is seated in the courtyard of the school. The fallen leaves of the trees whisk around in the wind of the afternoon, carried away to drag across the walkways, to catch against the walls of the buildings. He sits, wearing his plaid slacks joined by the deep purple vest and white undershirt, and a ruffled cravat. He finds himself chilled, shivering in his discomfort. He’s beginning to wonder why he didn’t just read in his room, or perhaps in the library. The weather hasn’t been particularly kind. Perhaps he just wanted to enjoy the scenery.
He manages to read in silence, punctuated by the whistling of the wind, the rustling of the trees, and the sound of students and teachers alike going about their business. Occasionally he glances up to scan the courtyard, taking notice of a few passing students. One of these times, he pauses, for he spots another man standing at the other end of the yard, partially hidden by the cluster of trees. A net-like material is drawing down across his face, to stop at his shoulders. He’s a striking red.
A heavy rock of anxiety develops in Schneider’s gut. He blinks rapidly, his pulse quickening. That—that man is eerily familiar. He can’t quite latch onto the memory of where he’s seen him before. But he’s not sure if he wants to remember. He feels uneasy. He knows he’s seen him before. From the length of the courtyard, Schneider can feel his stare boring into him.
The stranger then turns and begins to walk, passing behind the tree he stood near. Schneider expects to see him reappear past the trunk of the tree, but that expectation is never met. He doesn’t. He simply vanished.
He decides he’s had enough of the afternoon breeze. Letting out a deep breath, brow furrowed, Schneider bookmarks his novel and rises from the bench with a groan of old wood.
He sees that disturbing, oddly familiar man multiple times over the next few weeks.
In the woods by the school. In the courtyard once again, when he glances out his window during a late hour of the night. In the halls, swarmed by students and teachers after classes have come to an end—though the others seem to not see him at all. But he absolutely sees Schneider, just like Schneider can see him.
Schneider doesn’t sleep well anymore. Every night, he lays awake. Not quite afraid, but uneasy. The cawing of the crows, the rustling of the trees, the occasional creak of wood. Sometimes, he hears the slow pacing of footsteps outside, and then a shadow falls across his window. Overall, his nights have become… Unpleasant.
Every morning, standing at the podium, teaching his students, he’s exhausted, but he has a job to do, a job that he will do well. There is no room for mediocrity.
When he does manage to fall into the blissful release of sleep, it’s followed by the strangling presence of a nightmare. Horrible, terrible images, scenarios that have him waking up in a sweat, panting, heart racing. But for the life of him, he cannot recall a single picture of his nightmares. Every time, he wakens to utterly nothing, no recollections, no explanations to his terror. At this point, he begins to question his own sanity. What could be done about this? Can anything be done?
And then, a month deeper into his deteriorating confidence, into the questioning of his mental state, he’s visited again. There is an owl perched upon the branch of one of the trees in the courtyard, filling the school with its lonesome hooting. The chill is unforgiving again. Schneider is curled up in his bed, shuddering, clutching at himself, his face buried into his pillows. An involuntary shudder crawls up his back. His hair stands on end.
Something’s here. He can feel it. His heart is pounding. Sweat bursts upon his skin. He can’t breathe. Again, it’s not fear. It’s apprehension. Uncertainty.
A touch to his shoulder, through his blankets. A light drifting caress. So gentle, so light. There is no animosity, no intent to harm him. Further up it ascends, running gingerly across the covers which reach up to his ears. Schneider is entirely still, tension locking his muscles like rigor mortis.
When that touch begins to slowly, quietly draw back his covers, Schneider jerks up into a seated position and whips around to confront the person, or creature, that is interrupting his attempt to sleep. Instead, he’s met with the emptiness of his room.
The succeeding two weeks are relatively tamer. No strange visits. No sightings of that peculiar man. The nights are warmer, peaceful, somehow. He can sleep. And when he sleeps, he dreams of a man. His touch is especially tender. Burning hot, but not uncomfortably so. He’s elegant, graceful, hypnotizing, beautiful. He worships Schneider’s body, but in a way that is far from submissive. He keeps Schneider still, utterly controlled, bound down by something unseen. Then, he touches him intimately, does things to him no woman has done before.
Every night for those fourteen days, Schneider dreams of being completely dominated and toyed with by this curious man, with no face, with gentle hands and a searing touch. And every morning, Schneider wakes up with alarm and confusion, for he finds himself with ruined undergarments. The last time he’s faced something so revolting was when he was just a boy.
And even more disturbing, and crushing to him, is that he doesn’t dream of a woman in this fashion. It is of someone undeniably masculine. A man with a powerful body, slender and oddly beautiful in an undeniable way, with confident hands, and a sure touch. A strong jaw. A hidden face. What on God’s green Earth is wrong with him? How dare he dream in such a fashion, and with a man? Unfailing, this dreams greet him every night. Confused and flustered, Schneider is utterly lost as to why he’s being plagued by such images.
It’s cold again. Schneider can’t sleep. Goosebumps ripple across his skin. His hair stands on end. He fears he knows what will come. The creak of the wooden floor beside the bed is enough of an indication.
“Appreciate the gifts I come bearing,” a whispering voice says to him deep into the night, from beyond his shoulder, “Your subconscious has accepted them, let your consciousness welcome them as well. They will not harm you. I will not harm you. This is my final offering, Schneider.”
“I do not desire what you have to give me,” Schneider growls. He moves to sit up. Fearlessly, he looks over to see that same red-skinned figure standing over him, over his bed. He’s closer this time. Schneider watches him with a hard gaze, wary.
“But you will,” the mysterious figure insists, “You are a man of beauty. Of grace. What would I gain from hurting such a precious thing? I want to cherish you. I want to preserve you as I would a blooming flower. Let me show you what I can give you. What I can make you feel.”
Silence holds Schneider’s tongue. He watches the other being silently. The man—or is it truly a man?—stands there motionlessly, donning that netted garment that covers his face and shoulders, as well as that unsettling helmet. Those same black, leather sleeves on his arms. He’s waiting for a response. Schneider reluctantly admits to himself that he is… Curious. If only slightly.
“To trust you would be foolish,” he says, calmly, “I don’t even know what you are. Why you’re truly here.”
The being cracks a slight smile. Schneider can see it beneath the partial obscurity of the net cascading across its face.
“Giving me your trust is the only way I’ll grant you my absence,” it answers, coolly. Schneider arches a brow, unimpressed.
“How so? Convince me to give you my trust.”
“I’m here to give, not to take,” the being remarks, “I am not what you think I am.”
“Then what are you?”
“I am your friend.”
Schneider laughs, sharp and sarcastic. He watches the other with dry amusement.
“A friend would show me his face.”
“Very well,” the man says, quietly. He raises his hands—the first motion of his body save for the moving of his lips. He cups the sides of his helmet and draws it off slowly. Revealed to Schneider is a clearer picture of his face; not so obscured by its helmet, by the shadow cast by it. He is undeniably handsome.
“You are very odd,” Schneider muses quietly. The other man seems amused. Schneider elaborates, “You act and look very strange, but your face is quite normal. What are you? And what is your name?”
He watches Schneider quietly for a moment. Motionless, entirely still. Schneider is unsure if he even blinks.
“I am not of your kind,” he finally answers, truthfully, “And you needn’t know my name.”
They have an odd conversation, exchanges that barely give Schneider any answers, until the creature bids him a goodnight and disappears into the darkness from which it came. Schneider is a bit baffled by the entire situation. But most of all, he’s intrigued.
He falls asleep an hour later.
He dreams of that same mysterious figure mounting him, taking him into his body, bringing the both of them to blinding, breath-taking ecstasy. He utterly consumes Schneider. He rakes his hands across his body, absorbing him, taking him into himself. Only when he entirely envelops him, digesting him into his own body, does Schneider snap to consciousness hours later, when the sun is peering in through his window and the birds are singing.
Staring up at the ceiling, sweaty and panting, he feels odd. He feels peeled apart. He feels vulnerable. And his undergarments are wet and ruined again. He’s becoming rather tired of this.
“Please help me understand why you’ve chosen me,” Schneider whispers harshly, with an aggressive gesture of his hand, brow furrowed deeply, accentuating the lines of his face. It is late into the night, most likely around one in the morning. Schneider has yet to sleep, or attempt to sleep. The same being visited him when he was in bed, still reading before he were to put out his oil lamp.
“What do you mean by… Chosen?” the red-skinned man inquires, arms crossed, hands curled around his elbows, his gaze trained over on Schneider. Schneider can’t see his face again. He’s wearing the helmet. Schneider wipes his hand up over his dark locks and sighs.
“You only visit me, as far as I’m aware. The others—my fellow teachers, my students—they do not seem to see you. Why is that? Why won’t you reveal yourself to my peers?”
“They’re unimportant,” the other being murmurs.
“As opposed to me being important? Explain that to me.”
“I’m drawn to you.”
“You’re the kind of energy I seek. A man unlike other men. You have this confidence, this courage. For you are not afraid of me. I had sensed you would welcome me. You’re not foolish. Does that suffice as an answer to your demands?”
Schneider watches him silently, his face stony and frustrated.
“What is your motive?” he insists lowly, nearly a growl, “Why do you need me to welcome you? For what purpose. You are not my friend. You are a creature who has targeted me.”
Silence is his return. The man-esque being watches him intently, motionlessly, and it seems to last eternally. Schneider remains slightly unsure and anxious. When he finally speaks, it’s with a firmness in his tone.
“I wanted to give you a gift of my doing. A release.”
Arching a brow, Schneider seems unconvinced. Unimpressed.
“A release from what?”
“From the falsities of your human life. From the suffering you face for the sake of maintaining appearances. How do you release that swelling frustration, that contained lust for something more?”
Without waiting for a response, the bewildering man steps closer to Schneider and stands over him. Schneider looks up at him fearlessly, frowning, incredulous to him and his words. The creature brings his hands up. He cups them around the sides of his helmet and slides it off, revealing a clearer image of his features beyond the net drawn down to his shoulders. He sets the helmet on the bed, beside Schneider.
And then shocking said man, he brings his crimson hands to his face, hooks his index and middle fingers into the diamonds of the net, centered over his mouth. Schneider watches, hypnotized and a little disturbed, as he tears it open with a snapping of the fabric, revealing the entirety of his mouth. Somehow, Schneider is speechlessly entranced by this display. He only watches, motionlessly, eyes wide and alert, breath caught, as the red-skinned creature reaches up to gingerly cup his face. His touch is amazingly hot.
There is no urge to gain distance as the man leans in slowly—beyond the net, Schneider finally sees his eyes. They’re cloudy. No iris, no pupil. He’s never witnessed such a thing in his life. It’s frightening, but also so deathly intriguing. Schneider watches him, hands limp in his lap, as the creature closes the distance to kiss him. His lips are hotter than his hands. Schneider squeezes his eyes shut. His heart leaps to a start.
The kiss is slow. It is exploratory, wary and shy from Schneider’s end. He has never kissed a man before. Or rather, something that appears to be a man. Their mouths overlap together deeply, an intimate back and forth pursing that has Schneider furrowing his brow, his cheeks becoming red hot. Suddenly, everywhere feels red hot. He’s burning up. Heat curls like a snake in his lower belly, most prominent of all. He becomes light-headed. He’s panting amongst the dirty mashing of their lips, breathless and disoriented. The creature’s beard rubs against his skin as they kiss. Their mouths overlap together, hot and heavy and wet. Schneider is becoming overwhelmed. He’s incredibly hard, a pulsating heat in his groin. It’s dizzying and intense—he can’t take it anymore.
He breaks away, collapsing back onto his elbow. Breathing raggedly, he snaps his eyes open and is met with only the emptiness of his room. The oil lamp flickers calmly from the bedside table. Schneider glances around wildly, checking the corners. In the darkness, there’s nothing. He’s gone.
For two days, Schneider is left to obsess over what happened. He tries his best to focus on his lessons, to teach his students how they should be taught, with no distraction, with great result. But he often finds himself distracted. As the students read aloud from a thick book that had been passed out, passage to passage, Schneider stares at the words in his hands, but none of it registers. He stands at the chalkboard, wearing the typical white undershirt, the vest, the cravat, joined by his perfectly circular glasses, but even standing at the head of the room, he feels like he’s not truly there. Only when the silence stretched to a noticeable length did he snap back into reality and direct his students to look back at their books and continue. It is quite the spectacle to see Herr Schneider daydreaming, he knows.
At the end of class that day, Schneider decides to indulge in the one thing he seldom does: wine. He retrieves a bottle from a location only he knows, kept stashed there since the beginning of the season.
He drinks, and he drinks, until he’s drunk enough to submit to himself. He collapses back into his bed, hair a wild mess, flushed up to his ears and down to his neck, his clothing haphazard on his overheated body. He sloppily, sluggishly gets his vest undone, yanking it open to get to the stubborn buttons of his white shirt. When his chest is exposed, he decides he won’t go through the effort of sitting up to remove those layers. Instead, he drunkenly unravels his cravat, throws it onto the floor, and then manages to get his trousers down to his mid-thigh; he gives up at that point.
By now, he’s achingly hard. The thought of that kiss runs through his thoughts endlessly. A repetitive recollection that flusters him, humiliates him, and arouses him all the same. He never anticipated the effect it would have on him. There must be more to it.
He yanks his undergarments down, exposing the soft curls of hair at his groin, his lengthy, stiff cock that flips up against his heaving belly. He grips himself in a broad, firm hand. The touch is almost as intoxicating as the wine he consumed. He lets out a deep exhale. The sensation of touching himself, somehow, is amplified tenfold. He’s entirely locked up with tension, face in an open-mouthed grimace, as he begins to stroke at himself.
This is unbecoming of him. He has never masturbated so desperately before. Why is it so different this time?
The following night, after a long day of teaching and handling troublesome students, he retires to bed utterly exhausted.
Again, he dreams of the red-skinned being consuming him entirely. Climbing on top of him, grabbing his hair by the handfuls, pinning him down, kissing him intensely, biting over his entire body, bringing him to a blinding orgasm. Doing things to him Schneider had never known before. Hurting him in ways that felt pleasurable. Schneider is at its mercy.
When he awakens, it is in a haze. He feels warm, overheated. He cracks his eyes open to see the ceiling of his room, illuminated just lightly by the moon. Somehow, Schneider feels like he weighs a thousand pounds. He can just barely move. He weakly looks down from the ceiling to see that very same red-skinned man kneeling over him. He’s wearing only the net across his face and shoulders, and the black sleeves. The helmet is gone. The skirt is gone.
Schneider realizes he can’t move his arms. He furrows his brow. He feels oddly out of it. He can’t think straight.
“What are you doing? What is happening?” he demands, voice heavy. The other man smiles thinly.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. Schneider has come to realize he promises that often. And this time, it seems to soothe him. Schneider nods weakly. He goes lax atop the bed. He watches through lidded eyes as the other man reaches out to rest two fingertips to Schneider’s lips. Schneider furrows his brow weakly, disoriented. He slowly opens his mouth, curious and confused. The other man gingerly slides them into his mouth, pressing just his fingertips to his tongue. He tastes like nothing. His touch is hot. Schneider makes a sluggish, bewildered noise. He tries bringing his arms down. He can’t move them.
Turning his head, those fingers slipping from his mouth, he glances at his wrists and is surprised to find that they’re not tied by anything, but he still cannot lift his arms. It’s a little frightening. He looks back towards the other man and sees him crawling higher up over his body. He kneels over Schneider’s chest. Schneider looks up at him with shock. His handsome face is schooled, covered by the netting fabric. He gingerly cups them around Schneider’s jaw. He arches his head back. Schneider is hypnotized, watching him. He’s beautiful. It makes Schneider strangely willing. To succumb to his touch.
The fingers curled around his jaw squeeze. They gently pull, easing his jaw and his mouth open. Schneider lets his mouth hang agape, his blue eyes widened and trained up on his face. He doesn’t recoil when the red-skinned being purses his lips and lets his saliva drip down into Schneider’s mouth. It tastes sweet. Schneider furrows his brow, utterly confused but not disgusted. Somehow, he isn’t revolted by any of this.
He’s more curious than anything. What is this thing going to do? Is his motive finally going to be revealed to him? What he is truly here to do?
Schneider supposes his nudity is enough of an indication.
In the far back of his mind, revulsion at himself rears up. How dare he be curious to test the limits with a man? What does this reflect of his character, of how easily he can be persuaded, controlled? But in the forefront of his mind, he’s eager. He’s intrigued. He wants to cross the boundaries. He’s never faced anything like this before in his life.
“Do you want this?” the man asks him, coolly and quietly. He releases Schneider’s jaw. He reaches out to gently grasp his wrists, long, slender fingers curling around heated skin. The touch seems to alleviate Schneider’s momentary paralyzed state. His hands raise, frozen with uncertainty. The other man releases his wrists. Schneider watches, wide-eyed, as he relaxes back on his calves, kneeling over him, with his hands resting upon his bare thighs. His cloudy eyes are trained down on him. His face stony, unmoving. He’s completely still.
Schneider is suddenly weighted by the responsibility of action. He swallows hard, hands suspended. Then, his fear seems to melt, dissipating into nothing. He reaches out slowly, cautiously, and runs his fingers in a slow caress down across the red-skinned man’s chest, across hair and the netting fabric. His skin is smoldering hot. It’s mildly alarming. He trails his fingertips down along his hips, to settle on his muscular thighs.
“What do you want of me?” Schneider whispers.
“Your body,” the creature murmurs, “I want your flesh against my own.”
Schneider’s hands are shaky as he closes them around his thighs, squeezing tightly. His stomach is flipping, his heart fast. He realizes it’s not fear. It’s anticipation. He licks his lips and then speaks lowly, icy blue eyes drawn up towards the cloudy-eyed gaze that peers down at him.
“You shall have it.”
The smile that curls across the man’s face is unsettling, partially hidden by the netting. He reaches down to clutch Schneider’s wrists. He draws his arms up again, pinning them to the bed beside his shoulders. When he releases them, Schneider is once again bound; he can’t move his arms. The creature rises, crawling over him in a mass of long limbs and odd grace, its cloudy eyes watching him unwaveringly. It angles its head and leans in, slowly. Schneider watches its face with widened eyes, until the “man” kisses him in a firm connection of their lips, the net caught between them. Schneider’s eyes falter, becoming hooded, gazing at its face. The kiss is intoxicating. The other man kisses him without hunger, without intent to consume. He kisses Schneider in a slow pursing and overlapping of his lips, which he returns languidly.
Almost instantaneously, Schneider is erect. It’s shocking to him, but he doesn’t question it. He begins to make soft grunts into the kiss, brow furrowed and eyes closed. Then suddenly, the other man pulls away. He opens his eyes to see the red-skinned being leaning back, reaching up to hook its fingers into the net around its mouth. He tears it open with a snapping of fabric, revealing his lips and beard in their entirety. Then he cups both slender, strong hands around Schneider’s jaw and leans in to crush their mouths together again.
Their lips slide together, pushing, overlapping, dancing, moving in an intense kiss that Schneider has never experienced before. Soon he’s groaning into it, face flushed, brow knit, his hands clenched into fists, from where they’re kept pinned by an unseen force. The hands cupping his face stroke downwards, caressing his neck, running over his chest. A soft humming moan comes from the other man, a pleased noise that sends warmth throughout Schneider. Then the kiss ends; the man leans back from him again, earning a weak gaze from Schneider. Confidently, he grabs onto his nightgown and rips it off of him with a tearing of the cotton, effortlessly so.
And then, in a bizarre fashion, he crouches over Schneider, leans in with an oddly elegant curve of his spine, and smells him. He sniffs at his jaw, his throat, his collarbone, his strong, broad hands clutching gentle fistfuls of Schneider’s hair.
“Your aroma is intoxicating,” he murmurs, a rumbling laced with desire in his chest. Schneider is shuddering by then, shaken up both by his arousal and his clouded uncertainty. The being moves down his body. He smells at his exposed skin which bore sweat and heat. He strokes his hands along his sides, gropes at his chest, feeling his body intimately. Schneider’s eyes are rolling shut—he feels drunk. The touching is amplified somehow, like electricity shooting under his skin, to simmer into a warm buzz. He feels tingly. Hot. It’s strange, but also quite nice.
Schneider relaxes entirely into the bed, his hands limp, eyes closed. He feels like he’s being lulled into a strange sleep. The being’s hands continue caressing him, now squeezing around his hips. He draws down his undergarments, revealing his aching hard-on and the bush of hair it now sits upon. The arousal that punches Schneider in the belly when he feels the other man sniffing at his groin has him gasping and opening his eyes to watch. His head is lowered, bowed, to smell the aroma of his natural musk.
“I’m going to consume you,” the red-skinned man whispers, gazing up at him with an intense look in his cloudy eyes. Then he brings one slender, long-fingered hand up to pin his painfully hard length against his heaving belly. It drips generously with glistening pre-cum. A line slowly descends across the underside of his stiff cock. He leans in to lick it up slowly with an amazingly hot tongue. Schneider gasps, eyelids fluttering.
Then he takes him into his mouth without hesitation, and it has Schneider groaning aloud. Bursts of heat flow through his body—an indescribable sensation. A euphoria unlike any orgasm he’s ever had. But he has yet to even face the precipice of his climax; they’ve just begun. When the other man begins to slowly pleasure him with tight suction and a roaming tongue, Schneider’s hips arch off the bed and he’s moaning so filthily, he can barely believe it’s coming out of his own mouth.
A broad hand flattens over his thigh and pushes him back down to the bed. He begins to bob his head, sucking him deeply into his throat, earning a hoarse, gasping moan from Schneider. He watches through narrowed eyes, sees the other man’s sucked in cheeks, his closed eyes, his wet lips wrapped around him. He still has the torn netting drawn down over his head and shoulders, the long, black sleeves on his arms. His beard tickles against his thighs when he goes down on him.
And then suddenly, he stops. He withdraws slowly, licking him up as he retracts, leaving Schneider a panting, shuddering mess of a man. Then he begins to bite. He catches a hard, firm mouthful of his thigh between his teeth—Schneider grunts. That hurt. With a weakened gaze, Schneider watches him pull back to admire. Left behind is a distinct bruise. He does it again, multiple times. Nipping and biting over his thighs, his hips, leaving marks and teeth indentations. Curious things Schneider is not familiar with. Somehow, the feeling of being marked is arousing. Schneider’s cock, wet with saliva and pre-cum, throbs against his belly.
“You’re a sensitive one,” the man murmurs, his voice a husky growl that vibrates throughout him. It has a shudder rippling through Schneider’s back. The red-skinned being speaks again, lowly, “But that is no matter. I have you to myself, until dawn arrives. I can bring you to the brink many times.”
He watches Schneider closely. His broad, slender hands roam up over his hips, along his sides, to settle around his heaving rib cage. Schneider’s eyes roll shut. Then he feels hot lips against the crown of his cock, and a hotter mouth taking him in, an oddly long tongue curling around him and submerging him deeper in his throat. The euphoric pleasure that swallows Schneider whole submerges him, drowning him.
Through narrowed eyes with his breath held, Schneider witnesses the other man slowly move his head back and forth, repeatedly taking him far down into his mouth, suction unrelenting. He moans around him, seemingly so utterly pleased to have him like this. The visual only heightens the sensation, contributing to his upcoming orgasm that waits for no man. Schneider arches his hips, back curling, hands clenching into shaking fists. The hands around his flexing ribs squeeze so tightly it hurts. Schneider cries out a hoarse groan, his entire body wound up, muscles tight, trembling, his legs quivering uncontrollably.
The feeling that rushes through his entire being renders him utterly speechless. He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he sees stars. It never seems to stop—it keeps coming, and coming, and coming, completely paralyzing him save for the trembling of his body. The other man nurses tightly at his throbbing cock, refusing to stop even as the pleasure fades from the apex. He strokes lovingly at Schneider’s shaking body with a roaming, appreciative hand.
Schneider collapses into the bed with a creak of the wood. He’s panting heavily, shaking involuntarily. He cracks his eyes open to see him continuing to slowly suck his flushed shaft into his mouth, his eyes closed and face composed. The warm, tingling pleasure roams through Schneider’s limbs, relaxes him back into the sheets. It feels good. He feels lighter. He feels delirious, almost, with utter contentment. The other man finally pulls off, slowly, his cheeks sucked in and lips wet. Schneider hums in a soft murmur of a moan as he breaks off, one big hand sliding in to stroke over the curls which surround his softening shaft. He caresses his body in similar fashion: running his hot hand along his thigh, bringing it in-between to gently cup his balls, and then a feather-like stroke of his fingers and open palm up over his wet shaft, across his heaving belly to rest over his chest.
Almost shyly, Schneider meets his gaze. His eyes are glowing.
“My turn,” the being whispers, “Get up, Schneider. Become bold, for I want you to do unto me what I have given you.”
“I’m—I’m doubtful in my ability to,” Schneider stammers, still rather breathless, his eyes wide. He realizes he can lift his arms when he moves to sit up, flustered. The red-skinned man doesn’t seem to acknowledge what he said. He reaches out for him, gingerly curls one hand around the back of his neck, stroking his fingers up through his closely cropped hair. Schneider swallows hard, gaze flicking down to stare at his rather impressive cock, exposed to him ever since this began. It’s rock hard, standing tall from his body. His body hair is lighter than Schneider’s, an attractive trail up from his groin to settle at his belly button. He is flawless.
“Trust me,” the being says, hushed, in a rumbling murmur, “And trust yourself.”
Glancing up at him again, Schneider is momentarily shocked to find him leaning in again to crush their lips together. Schneider makes a noise into it, hands raising to hover in the air with uncertainty. He then reaches out to carefully, shyly drift his fingertips along the impeccable muscles of his stomach. A hot, slick tongue that tastes slightly sweet pushes into his mouth. Schneider moans. Immediately, his mind is overcome with a haze derived from lust. The other man licks into his mouth, tasting him, his saliva, his teeth, his gasps.
“Don’t you want to try?” the creature whispers into his lips, delicate fingertips stroking down along Schneider’s throat. Schneider nods weakly, delirious from his desire. He feels heat bursting throughout him, thrumming with intensity in his belly. Blood rushes southwards into his shaft. He’s becoming hard again.
When the other man lets him go, leaning back to observe him, Schneider licks his lips and whispers shakily, “Lay back. I’ve never done such a thing before and I’d like control.”
Despite the inhibiting haze of lust, a sliver of coherency remains. The creature nods, giving him a reassuring, faint smile. He moves to sprawl back over the expanse of the small bed, long limbs and lengthy torso unraveling and revealing the entirety of his gorgeous, Adonis-esque figure. Schneider is still rather in disbelief about this entire situation. How did he come to this, sharing his bed with this creature, this man that is not quite a man, and a being that could quite possibly be a God? Why has he been chosen?
“Come,” the creature coaxes him gently, resting one broad hand upon his hip, sliding in to delicately curl his fingers around the base of his impressive cock. Schneider’s entire being swims with heat. He swallows hard, watching him. His own shaft is erect again, standing tall from his body as well. He’s so incredibly aroused, seeing him grip himself like that, waiting for him.
Even if slightly dubious to his own ability, he anticipates tasting him. He has never done anything like this before. He should be disgusted, he should be scared, he should be distancing himself. But he finds himself undeniably drawn to him. The consuming desire to touch him, to let the other man touch him, to let him do whatever he so wished.
Crawling closer to his laying body, Schneider kneels between his spread thighs, reaching out to shyly stroke his broad hands up over his muscular legs. The creature purrs, pleased. Those cloudy eyes are trained on him, watching him closely as he leans in. Schneider hesitates for a moment, but his boldness overcomes his uncertainty. He watches the creature’s face as he lets his tongue slide out to run it over the swell of the head. A big hand roams upwards into his unkempt undercut, clutching his curls. The red-skinned man huffs.
“In your mouth,” it murmurs, a gentle order that only serves to further fluster Schneider. He licks his lips, nods, and shifts closer. He continues resting his hands on his thighs as he leans in again. The other man keeps his cock raised for Schneider as he takes the head into his mouth. The creature hums again, pleased. Schneider isn’t sure what he anticipated. This is all bizarre to him, but the shroud of lust overcomes any doubt, any uncertainties. He just begins to move his mouth, tongue curling against the intrusion in a sloppy, inexperienced motion.
“Try sucking for me,” the man whispers, a gentle request. Schneider pauses, and then obeys. He begins to suck, brow furrowing in concentration as he continues moving his mouth in an awkward fashion. The creature purrs. The hand gripping his hair releases him, if only to begin stroking at his locks affectionately. Schneider tries taking more in his mouth. He manages only a couple inches before he’s coughing and straining against his gag reflex. The driving urge to please him does not fade. He continues bobbing his head, his own erection stiff and dripping against the sheets of the much too small bed. He can barely breathe. He begins to produce slight noises, both flustered and aroused, as he attempts to suck him off. The other man moans softly, fingers continuing to thread through his hair encouragingly, affectionately. The creature’s appreciative moans turns Schneider on. But Schneider ends up choking—he took too much in.
“You did well,” the red-skinned creature murmurs, gently cupping his hand under his jaw and easing him off slowly. Sucking in a shuddering breath, Schneider looks up at him with glassy eyes and red, dripping lips, his cheeks flushed and brow knit. The pleased smile on the man’s face has him staring.
Reaching up, Schneider presses the back of his wrist to his wet lips and murmurs shyly, “I don’t quite feel like I did, but I suppose you’re the recipient of the pleasure, not I.”
“It pleased me beyond the physical sensation,” the man reassures in return. Schneider blushes up to his ears, his skin on fire. He nods. He watches silently as the red-skinned creature rises. He leans in towards Schneider, cloudy eyes downcast to watch himself reach out and delicately cup a broad hand under his heavy, dripping cock, letting it rest in his palm. Schneider sucks in a breath through his teeth, watches with wider eyes. His touch is electrifying. His skin is incredibly hot against his sensitive shaft.
“You’re so aroused for me,” the man whispers, curling his fingertips gingerly around Schneider’s balls, his palm arching his flushed cock upwards to examine it further. An involuntary whimper swells in Schneider’s throat, derived from his desperately lustful state. He begins to quiver, hands clenching the woolen blankets underneath them. The other man watches him with a sly smile. He speaks quietly, saying, “Lay back.”
He strokes his fingers up along the underside of his aching cock in a departing caress and then beckons towards the pillow he once rested his head upon. Schneider shakily obeys; he moves to lay back down, legs trembling slightly, his chest heaving, heart racing. As soon as he’s settled, the other man crawls over him again, limbs long and gangly, his cloudy eyes fixated intensely on Schneider’s flustered face.
“I want you to relax,” he whispers, leaning in close to the human, so close Schneider can search in his eyes, can see the swirling white in them—like smoke. He then angles his head and kisses Schneider, slowly, gently. He grips his stiff cock and begins to stroke at him with a sure hand as Schneider attempts to weakly return the kiss. Schneider moans against his lips, eyebrows furrowing and eyes clenching shut. Their mouths purse and overlap together, Schneider’s ragged exhales and sucked in breaths shared between them. Their lips are crushed against each other, consuming one another in a heated exchange. Schneider dazedly kisses him, intoxicated by it.
The creature speaks in murmurs, voice gravelly and deep, his lips moving against his, “I am here only for you, Schneider. I won’t leave your side.”
Schneider watches him, completely enraptured and hypnotized. He fails to produce a verbal response. He simply nods, disoriented. An almost tender look crosses the red-skinned being’s face. And then he reaches up to hook his fingers into the remainder of the net around his shoulders and head. He tears it away effortlessly with a snapping of the fabric. He strips off the black sleeves from his arms. Revealed to Schneider are glowing markings on his forearms. Symbols he doesn’t recognize.
“What… Are you?” Schneider breathes, utterly awed. He reaches out to gingerly drift his hand across the pulsating markings on his left forearm—he glances up to see the contented expression on the creature’s face. His eyes are closed. Schneider looks back down to watch himself trace the lines, the symbols, with a curious stroke of his fingertips. The glowing intensifies. Schneider is speechless. The man atop him hums lowly and murmurs, “I’m yours.”
That is the only answer he gives Schneider. Then he places his hands on the bed and leans in to kiss him once more. Schneider moans weakly The other man kisses him gingerly, so softly and tenderly. Schneider reaches up to touch him. He cups the other man’s face, feeling the coarse texture of his beard against his skin. Their mouths purse together gently, carefully. It fills Schneider with such warmth. And then the kiss comes to an end; the other man slowly pulls away. Schneider looks up towards him. Staring back at him are glowing eyes—entirely bewitching.
“Rest back now,” the being murmurs to him, his voice rumbling. Schneider obeys, without hesitation. He sinks into the pillow and watches him, hypnotized. The red-skinned being rises up, his knees planted on either side of Schneider, and reaches down to gently take hold of his hard cock, long fingers curling around it as if to caress, and angles it properly. Then he begins to ease down on it, letting Schneider penetrate him slowly, in an easy, smooth glide. Schneider’s eyes widen. He feels amazing. Incredibly hot, and the texture—
“Oh,” Schneider breathes, eyelids fluttering. The heat, the arousal that courses through him is breath-taking, rendering him speechless. He has enough coherency to open his eyes and watch the creature begin to move. He gracefully rolls his hips, rocking back against his shaft slowly, his glowing eyes trained intently on Schneider’s pleasure-stricken face. He keeps it slow, gradual, letting him feel the extent of the pleasure, the sensation. With breath held, entire body tightened, his eyes barely able to open, Schneider vaguely wonders if he’s ever been paralyzed by pleasure like this, before tonight.
The other man’s lengthy cock is completely stiff, standing tall from his body, beautiful and elegant and vicious. Schneider regathers himself just enough to reach out and shakily stroke his broad hands up along his perfect thighs, feeling the flexing and shifting of his muscle as he moves on his lap.
Boldly, Schneider drifts his hand in to curl his fingers around the base of the other man’s powerful cock. The being gasps, and then lets out a purring moan. Schneider swallows hard, watching himself begin to slowly stroke at it, with uncertainty. He’s never done this before—to another man. He flicks his gaze up to meet his pleased eyes as he brings his other hand in to gently grip the head. With both hands, he pulls at his shaft, while squeezing his fingers around the head.
The creature moans again, softly, a rumbling sound. His body arches, muscles flexing. He begins to ride Schneider at a faster, harder pace. He reaches out to place his hands on the bed for the stability to slam down on him, which creates greater noise through the connection of their bodies and the creaking of the old wooden bed. Schneider’s hands falter, distracted by the pleasure. He drops his head back against the pillow and moans heavily, breathlessly.
Schneider can barely respond. He lets his cock go, hands shaking, and grabs tight onto his hips instead. He watches him bounce on his lap, slamming down so hard it almost hurts, his muscular body moving gracefully despite the harsh pace. His muscles are flexing and clenching, his stomach and hips rolling. Schneider squeezes his hands around his waist and digs the heels of his feet into the bed for leverage as he begins to thrust up into him as he comes down. The red-skinned creature arches its back and moans, a deep, guttural sound that has a shot of arousal coursing through Schneider.
“Good,” the man gasps breathlessly, “Just like that, Schneider.”
He roams his hands over his heaving chest as he continues dropping himself down on his lap. Their fornication becomes sloppier, less graceful as Schneider thrusts up into him as he comes down, their bodies moving together in a desperation to fuck. Sweat gleams across their skin illuminated by the moonlight peering in through the window. Schneider moans and grunts and pants breathlessly, his face screwed up and hands clutching the other man’s hips so tightly his thumbs dig into his flesh.
Overcome by his desire, Schneider lets him go, sits up, draws his arms around him, and flips them over with the other man immediately accommodating it; he moves with Schneider, willingly letting him adjust their position however he wishes. Schneider shoves him down onto the bed with a creak of the boards. The red-skinned man rests on his back, but angles his lower half so he’s lying on his hip, his legs curled. He slides his knee higher up to give Schneider a better angle. His body is twisted elegantly, his hands sliding across the sheets to rest over Schneider’s thighs. Schneider grips himself and aligns himself to smoothly slide into him again—both men moan. He curls his big hands around his slender, muscular midsection and keeps him pinned as he begins to thrust into him again.
Those glowing, opaque eyes are trained up on him, watching him closely as Schneider moves. He’s panting, a smile curling on his lips.
“I want you to fill me with your seed,” the being whispers to him, digging his nails into Schneider’s flexing thighs, “I know you want to. You can feel it coming, can’t you? You’re not far. No, you’re very close. Burning with that heat. Let it consume you. I want you, Schneider.”
“P-Please,” Schneider breathes, eyes closing, his hands squeezing painfully tight around him. An amused hum comes from the being. He strokes his long fingers over Schneider’s skin, fanning out across his sweat-slickened flesh, tasting him through touch. He roams his hand up along Schneider’s arm, feeling the flexing of his muscle, the heat of his skin.
“I enjoy hearing you plead,” he whispers, “It’s almost as if you think I have the power to grant you your euphoria. Do you think I have that ability, Schneider? Do you think I can let you reach that climax with a snap of my fingers?”
“I—I do not know,” Schneider moans, and then lets him go to plant his hands on the bed. The fire is roaring inside of him. His entire body is awake with lightning. Every part of him is thrumming. He shoves his hips against him with heavy grunts, bowing his head to rest his forehead against his chest. A tender hand curls around his head, fingers threading into his haphazard curls. He clutches him close to his chest, cradling his head affectionately.
Schneider feels it coming. He opens his mouth and bites a mouthful of his chest between his teeth, latching on in a mindless desperation. The creature purrs and strokes at his hair with love. Schneider whimpers and moans into his skin as he shakily bucks into him, hard and fast, crying out, and then he’s drowning. He shakes uncontrollably as he snaps his hips into him, panting heavily against his chest, eyes closed. Their bodies jerk from the brutal force of it, the bed creaking in protest. The creature moans, gasping. He continues caressing Schneider’s wild curls. Blood is roaring through Schneider’s ears. He sees stars.
“Perfect,” the other man whispers, panting, “I can feel your seed flooding in me.”
Delirious with pleasure, Schneider moans softly as he languidly rolls his hips against him, a warm, prickling sensation washing throughout his body. He stills, buried deeply into the other man, their lower halves slotted together. Head bowed, back curled, Schneider clings to him. He continues hiding his face in his chest, breathing heavily with sweat traversing along his overheated skin. A broad hand sweeps up along his side, a slow, intimate stroke.
“We’re not done,” the being says lowly, “I know you want more. I have more to give you.”
He hadn’t given Schneider an empty promise. They were intertwined until the sun began to rise.
Schneider had twisted and transformed the mysterious creature into a plethora of different positions, screwing him into the bed until they’re nothing but flesh and sweat and semen, until Schneider is blinded by his lust, moaning and growling and swearing for the entire student body to hear.
In the morning, the man is gone. He’s not beside him, like how they fell asleep. Curled into his arms, clinging to him possessively. Watching him, intimately. Schneider had attempted to watch him in return for as long as he could, but the man never blinked, and never seemed to sleep. Schneider, needless to say, did not win.
Schneider neglects the disappointment that sits over him heavily. He’s not quite sure what he expected, though. That man has disappeared from his arms before.
Every limb hurts. Exhaustion weighs down on him. His skin feels tight, sore—bitten. The blood staining his sheets is a good indication to how much bloodshed there was. Testing the teeth marks on his shoulders and arms, along his thighs, over his ass—they’re all painfully sore. Nearly all of them are scabbing over. One is still tender, somewhat fresh. There’s dried blood in multiple spots on his body. He doesn’t even remember the other man tearing into him like this. The pain had been so akin to the pleasure, it all melted together into a boiling pot of sensation. Of passion.
When he attempts to stand, he’s met with an incredible weight. He feels weak. And exhausted. Regret reaches for him from the shadows, but he stubbornly refuses to welcome it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he needed it.
He still refuses to come to terms with the fact it was a man. And most definitely not a human.
Somehow, he manages to bathe himself, dress, and don a controlled, stoic demeanor as he departs from his room to face the world.
“I felt you all day,” Schneider says quietly to the darkness, sitting on the edge of his bed with his sleeping gown undone, hanging loosely on his shoulders, “Each step, my buttocks pulsated from the three marks you left. My thighs burn. My shoulders, my arms—every movement, I feel you. That was intentional, wasn’t it? You want me to always think of you, throughout the length of my day. You’re quite possessive.”
He waits thirty seconds. Silence.
He knows he can hear him.
“I know you can hear me,” Schneider whispers, “You hear even my dreams. You must hear my pulse. My inhales, my exhales.”
He watches the darkness of the corners, somehow expecting him to step out from the shadows like the moon emerging from the depths of the night. His heart races a bit now, both fearful and anticipating of his arrival. He waits only three minutes, and then his body reminds him once again he needs sleep—his eyelids feel heavy.
“I’m going to sleep,” Schneider continues softly, “If you so choose to seduce me once more, I’d prefer you didn’t restrain me. This time, you won’t have to. Good night.”
Reaching out, Schneider takes his lantern in hand and blows out the candle.
For three nights, he’s left with nothing but longing, anticipation, and disappointment.
And then, deep into the dark hours of the evening, he’s woken by the shifting of his bed. He snaps his eyes open. Soft moonlight is flooding the room; bathing across the floorboards, the walls, and his bed. A weight is against him. Atop him. He looks down to see him.
That red-skinned creature is watching him. Laying curled against Schneider’s side, he has his chin propped on his folded arms, his cloudy eyes tracing Schneider’s shocked face. His eyes are no longer pulsating with energy. He’s lacking that strange outfit he typically wears. He’s as natural as the night Schneider had him. Schneider swallows hard, opens his mouth to produce any word, but no word comes. The man smiles at him. His mysterious eyes are kind, gazing at him.
“I’m hungry for you. I want you,” he murmurs, his voice softer and placating; a comfort to Schneider. “And I know you have a hunger for me. Are you ready to give yourself to me, entirely? To let me make love to you once again?”
Schneider lets out a shaky exhale. He bring his arm out from under the sheets to reach out and stroke the back of his fingers along his cheek, across hot skin and coarse hair. The red-skinned creature looks certainly pleased by that caress. Schneider speaks lowly, his heart racing.
“I have already given myself to you.”