Tidbits of Love

The Last Night-1

The Last Night

Rain tapped on the black fabric of his umbrella, the autumn shower providing an extra chill on the last night of October. Eric Storm stood in the middle of the gravel driveway, his breath visible on the air. A few yards away an old manor sat, gabled roof rising toward the sky. Some of the windows were busted, the cracks a close mimic of those he felt in his heart, and there was a sizeable gap in the roof. The remains of a rusted out truck were slowly being eaten up by weeds, a glimpse of what used to be, falling victim to the hands of time. Given recent trends, the place would have been perfect for one of those flip jobs.

But he’d left his mark, and it kept people away.

Bare branches resembling skeletal hands swayed in the breeze. Dressed in little more than a suit of the finest threads, Storm should have been chilled; instead he barely registered the temperature. He tapped the tip of his gentleman’s walking stick against the side of his shoe. Every time he came to this place, he experienced an ever-shifting array of emotions. It started with a touch of longing then turned to excitement only to morph into bittersweet, which he was currently mired in.

Storm started toward the house, the tip of the walking stick—which was actually more than it seemed—clicking lightly against the ground. As he drew toward the house it began to shimmer and shift, reacting to his presence. By the time he passed the truck the weeds were gone, the rust once again a bright blue paint job. Little by little, the manor returned to its former glory. Sagging rotted wood became firm. The hole vanished from the roof and lights glowed behind smooth panes of glass.

Jack o’ lanterns with grimacing monstrous faces sat on the porch steps, candles flickering in their hollowed out innards. Artfully crafted tombstones made up a fake graveyard, complete with a skeleton in the front yard. Spider webs stretched from the porch roof down to the railing, and after all this time the spiders within were real, though Storm did not fully understand why. The home was trussed up in its Halloween finest despite the fact very few people would brave the long trek up the drive. Even during the height of its heyday, stories were whispered about the ghosts that supposedly haunted the grounds, the witch that would turn trespassers into pies, and the vampire that occupied the tower room, none of which were true.

Sure, the last night of October was ruled by the dead, the veil between worlds painfully thin, but witches and vampires had nearly vanished from the populace. Still, with the help of scary stories and the sigil he had drawn on the front porch and a matching one on a tree where the driveway met pavement, both using his blood, people had plum forgotten about the old manor.

Perfectly fine by him as it made this night possible.

The wood creaked under his weight as Storm approached the front door. A lone white pumpkin sat on a table beside a bowl of candy. A little chalkboard bore the message “help yourself.” The corner of Storm’s mouth twitched as he plucked a Snickers from the bowl.

He paused before the front door, a heavy oaken thing with a very large stylized glass panel that made it nearly impossible to see in, as well as distorting the image. There was no need to check his reflection, his appearance never changing; six-two, perhaps a bit on the thin side for some, his hair silvery gray and neat, eyes an enchanting shade of purple. His suit was always black and paired with a purple tie that only served to enhance his eyes. And he never went anywhere without his trusty walking stick. Storm fished in his pocket and withdrew a pocket watch, the old item carved from bone.

Human bone.

The time was right.

He wished his heart was racing with the anticipation of what he knew waited inside, but in order for that to happen, his heart would have to possess the ability to beat and that ability had died many years ago.

The metal of the door handle was cool against his palm. Storm passed over the threshold into a beautiful foyer. A somewhat sad smile played across his lips as he took in the little trinkets and mementos that allowed a glimpse into the life of the home’s dweller. Over the centuries, he’d learned a lot could be garnered about a person from the things they chose to surround themselves with; in this case, there were lots of framed photos of family members on the wall. The home had a welcoming vibe, just another strike against the whispered rumors.

“Where oh where is my little treat?” Storm mused.

Organ music piped from speakers, the volume on low. Storm ventured from the foyer into the living room; the coffee table littered with the chaos of magazines and video games; through the dining room, the table set for two; and into the kitchen. There were traces of his beloved everywhere, but he had yet to cross paths with the man.

“What a cruel trick,” he muttered.

“It makes the treat so much better,” another voice cooed.

Storm whirled around and let his gaze travel over the form of Timothy Fields. In life, Timothy had been a lawyer, something Storm didn’t hold against him. He wasn’t the fittest man, a little pudgy around his midsection; Storm saw it as more to love. Timothy’s skin seemed to have a permanent tan, complimented nicely by his dark features. During his life, he sported a lot of three-piece suits. At present, he wore nothing more than a pair of boxers and a white T-shirt with the name of a candy bar scrawled hastily across the front.

“Well, well, what, may I ask, is with the getup?”

Timothy looked down at himself. “It’s Halloween.” His grin lit up his face. “I’m a candy bar. Want to have a nibble?”

“Most definitely,” Storm purred. “Will you melt in my hand?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“And I most certainly will,” Storm said, knowing the entire conversation by heart, almost like following a script, and perhaps in some ways he was doing just that. He thought, hoped, that after all these years the lingering heartache would be long gone, not still hanging around waiting for a chance to remind him of all he’d lost. “Let’s start slow, build our way to the…melting.”

“What have you got in mind?”

Storm turned to the fridge, knowing a bottle of wine waited within. A few chocolate covered strawberries resting on a plate sat on the shelf beside the bottle. He retrieved both.

“For us?”

The splash of red that appeared on Timothy’s cheeks was like an extra twist of the knife. But this was his moment, his one moment in the life of another that he chose to relive every year. It hadn’t been the time they first made love, not by a long shot, and there were probably a million other moments he could have chosen, but for some reason this night stuck with him. Perhaps because it was the night he finally understood that he truly loved Timothy.

Only to have him cruelly torn away just days later.

He passed the bottle to Timothy, his other hand still clutching tightly to the walking stick, and as he considered blurting out the horrible truth—not for the first time—the accessory was suddenly hot enough to burn the tender flesh of his hand. A reminder to keep the secrets of the future locked deep inside or he would lose the man he loved in a more final fashion. Storm tried not to dwell, finding it harder every year not to think of the fateful accident. If only he could have changed the outcome, found some way to keep his beloved Timothy at his side for more than just one night.

Meanwhile Timothy hummed as he popped the cork and began pouring blush pink wine into glasses. They would finish the bottle before night’s end, Storm knew. The glasses full; Timothy lifted his in a gesture of a toast.

“To us,” he stated simply. They clinked their glasses together, and Timothy downed most of his in one gulp.

Storm rested the walking stick against the counter and took up the plate of strawberries. He walked around the little kitchen island with its marble countertop, slipping his hand effortlessly into Timothy’s, their fingers becoming entwined, a little electric spark racing up Storm’s arm. “Come with me, my little chocolate morsel.”

He led them back through the dining room—they’d never get around to having a fancy dinner for two that evening—and into the soft glow of the living room. Using a touch of magic, Storm had dimmed the lights and gotten a fire going, the flames dancing hypnotically. From the back of the couch he pulled a blanket, dropping it on the floor before the fireplace. He sat, patting the spot beside him and Timothy sank down within reach. The organ music had stopped and aside from the pitter-patter of raindrops on the windowpanes, all they could hear was the snap and crackle of the fire.

Without a word, Storm offered one of the delectable strawberries to Timothy; their gazes locked as Timothy slowly sank his teeth into the sweet fruit. A bit of juice dribbled down his chin. Storm could not resist, leaning forward and licking it away, the tip of his tongue lingering on the corner of Timothy’s mouth. And then they were kissing, Timothy’s lips a delicious mix of wine and chocolate and strawberries. He savored the feel of those plush lips pressed softly against his, sensing the hunger and desire burning within his lover.

Almost painfully he pulled away, his forehead resting against Timothy’s. He fought against the words that danced in his mind, ever so ready to pop out of his mouth, knowing that once they were free, they would set in motion the events that led to him losing the one thing that meant the world to him. Just three little words he wished he had managed to keep locked inside because they should have brought him great joy, and at the moment they would, but now he knew the awful truth and they only served to stir the ache of his fragile heart.

“I love you,” he said, fighting the urge to cry. “I love you, Timothy Fields, like I have never loved another.”

The following silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, merely the moment of one heart rejoicing in the embrace of another. Then Timothy kissed him, the sweet sensual sort of kiss reserved only for lovers. And Storm felt his heart breaking all over again, the fragile cracks widening until all the pain and agony inside came oozing out. Oh, how he wished…“I have wanted so long to say the same to you,” Timothy started off. “But I was afraid you didn’t feel the same. Afraid your heart might already belong to another.”

Storm jerked back, still disturbed by the hint of doubt in Timothy’s words. His reaction would probably be the same next year and every year after it. What could he have possibly done in their short time together to ever make Timothy question his love? Oh, the amount of time he’d spent trying to figure out where he might have gone wrong. It never occurred to him that he should have asked, and now it was far too late.

Storm cupped Timothy’s cheek in his hand, his eyes searching those of his lover. “Forgive me, my love. It was never my intention to make you feel any less than the sunlight on my cloudy days. It is the love we share that brings me hope each and every day, a glimmer that this world isn’t so bad.” He realized just how cheesy it all sounded and yet, here he was happily repeating the phrase for the umpteenth time, always wishing he could have said more, could have had the time to show Timothy just how much their love meant to him. “You know my job,” he continued, wondering if by some chance confessing the true nature of his existence might have had a hand in Fate taking his Timothy away.

Reapers were meant to pass through the world sight unseen until the moment they arrived to possess a soul.

Love wasn’t supposed to be on the table, but there was his Timothy, sweet, beloved Timothy.

Rules be damned.

On what had originally been a spur of the moment, he took firm hold of Timothy’s hand and practically dragged the surprised man toward the front door. Back then he didn’t really understand what the hell he was doing, but now he was reliving the moment for the umpteenth time, he saw it made sense in its own little twisted way. Out the door they went and down the steps of the porch into what remained of the autumn storm, now nothing more than a drizzle. The clouds were starting to break apart, allowing for a glimpse of the stars every now and then.

Storm gestured at the long gravel driveway, the surrounding trees, the faint glow of lights at a house some distance away. “All around us life is thriving and dying, people are going about their evenings without much care, and all I ever want to do is be here with you, Timothy.” He glanced into those dark eyes. “The world could fade away, and as long as I have you, it wouldn’t matter.”

“D-d-do you really mean that?”

For some reason he chuckled, drawing Timothy to him. “My dear, I meant every word and then some. I would give up everything I am to never spend another day without you by my side.” And his heart broke again.

Why couldn’t it have played out that way?

It was hard to tell if Timothy was crying or if it was the work of the cold drizzle. He looked about to say something—and so very often now Storm wondered what it might have been—hesitated, then popped out with, “Let’s go back inside.”

He faked being caught off guard. He knew exactly where things were headed, and he wasn’t about to stop them. “What?”

This time it was Timothy who did the dragging.

“Come on, there’s something we should be doing.” “What could that possibly be?”

At the front door, Timothy stopped by the bowl of candy. It didn’t look as though anyone had been by to take up the offer. Timothy plucked a fun size bar from the bowl. “Chocolate doesn’t melt in the cold, hun.”

Back into the house he led Timothy, back to their spot in front of the fire. Standing there, he kissed Timothy, happy to let his lips linger. It was Timothy who made the first move, tugging at the waistband of his pants, somehow managing to undo his belt with quick efficiency. More kisses were shared as they slowly undressed each other, letting hands explore, fingertips caressing bare skin. Only once they were both naked in the glow of the fire did Storm gently lay Timothy on the blanket. For a moment, he merely looked into Timothy’s dark eyes, letting himself get lost, knowing that no matter how much time passed he would never find another’s gaze so enchanting.

Another kiss, soft lips pressed together, the ever pleasant taste of his Timothy.

Then he was leaving a trail of soft, feathery kisses along Timothy’s chin, down the side of his neck, and along his collarbone. It was with his mouth only that he touched Timothy, restraining himself from further pleasures as he worked his way over Timothy’s chest, stopping to flick his tongue over each n****e. One of those things that Timothy once told him no other lover bothered to do despite having been asked. For Storm, he got his pleasure from making sure he took care of his lover, that satisfaction in knowing that he’d managed to make Timothy feel desired, there was nothing else like it.

So he kissed, licked, and nipped at Timothy’s n*****s, earning a series of encouraging soft moans.

Following the contours of Timothy’s body, he worked his way further south, skipping passed Timothy’s now full erection and instead pressing his lips to the inside of Timothy’s thigh. He wanted to taste every inch of

Timothy, to devour his lover like the piece of chocolate—more like smooth caramel—Timothy suggested.

It wasn’t until Timothy whispered pleadingly that Storm finally ran his fingers delicately along the length of Timothy’s erection, first up and then down, wrapping his fingers around Timothy’s pleasing girth. For a heartbeat, he rested his lips against the tip, then his tongue darted out, eliciting a gasp from Timothy. Oh so teasingly slow, Storm drew in Timothy’s length, eyes temporarily closed, a moan issuing from Timothy. Up and down, hand and mouth, Storm varied his speed, one of Timothy’s hands on his head. There were moans and groans, whispered words of pleasure and it didn’t take long for Storm to bring Timothy to the edge, then send his lover toppling over the other side.

Storm lay beside Timothy, pulling Timothy close, chest to chest, feeling the beat of his lover’s heart. He fought back the urge to cry while holding onto Timothy, knowing it would be another year before he would find his way back to this moment, desperate to enjoy what little he had while he could. The night always went by much too fast.

“You know,” Timothy broke the silence, a hand traveling south between them until fingers brushed against Storm’s erection. “I think we’ve talked enough about how we feel; maybe it’s time to show you just how much I love you.”

“And how are you planning on doing that?”

A coy smile played across Timothy’s lips. “Just you wait and see.”

Taking the upper hand, Timothy forced Storm onto his back, straddling him, those dark eyes drinking him in. The fire crackled. Outside the clouds were swept away, the moon brilliant and bright and full. Children snuggled deep into their beds, costumes forgotten, the spoils of their work securely tucked away in cabinets for future savoring.

And all that mattered to Storm was what Timothy was doing with his hand.