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Luca looked like his old self, and the heart that no longer beat inside Alva’s chest wrenched sharply.
Of the survivors trying to enjoy their ‘last meal’, he was the only one not eating. Instead, he tapped his fingers relentlessly against the rim of his wineglass, his eyes faraway. Even sitting as far as Alva was from them, he could see the slight part of Luca’s lips that meant he was working something out in his head.
He wore the white collared shirt of an Academy student, with shining golden lapel pin, and the same kind of pin tucked into his wayward hair. When the survivors had entered the dining room, Alva had seen the rich brown blazer tied around his waist carelessly and his heart had wrenched still further.
The host of these games seemed to enjoy his themes, and Luca, with the collar of his shirt and cuffs hiding his bandages, face free of scuffs or injury, cheeks faintly flushed with alcohol, seemed as if he’d wandered from the pages of Alva’s memory.
Much to Alva’s distaste, he was also dressed in something he remembered too well–the dark blue jacket he’d worn often when he lectured, and his hair in the same style it had been when he was alive–longer, blonder and drawn back in a soft tail. If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture the shadows of his study instead of the gloomy dining room, the taste of scotch on his tongue as he drained the last of it before blowing out the candle. He’d go upstairs, passing Luca’s bedroom without glancing at it–he had become quite good at that–and try to sleep, and stay up, plagued with bright brown eyes that had etched themselves behind his eyelids against his will.
As the match began, Alva glanced at Luca once more, and saw him drain the almost-full glass of wine beside his plate in one swallow.
The match went slowly–too slowly for Alva’s liking. He had made it a point to avoid Luca; seeing him in the clothes he had worn the last time Alva was truly happy was suffocating. Usually, when they were in a match together, Luca stayed to the edges and decoded out of reach, and Alva would find him at the end. He never tried to run–just stayed and bled out.
Today, it was different. He seemed to have abandoned decoding altogether, and was rescuing the cheerleader from her second chair, avoiding Alva with ease. He had repeatedly thrown himself in front of his teammates to take hits, and the white shirt he wore was scuffed and dirtied with the grime of the hospital floors.
He stunned him, and Alva flinched as the blue flash struck him with aching familiarity, and his vision went white. The electricity that froze his limbs and blazed white fire in his heart felt an exact replica of the explosion that had claimed his life.
Perhaps that was why Luca had avoided him til now.
He met eyes with Luca, who looked as if he had been the one struck by the stun, and felt nothing but a bone-chilling bloodlust. He wanted to tear his searching eyes out and snap his bones bit by bit. How dare he?
“I’ve been most understanding, I thought,” Alva said. Luca was still frozen, the cheerleader screaming at him to just go, pull her out of the chair.
He wanted to pull him apart piece by piece and hold his insides in his hands.
“Alva,” Luca said in a near-whisper. “Just…”
The cheerleader stopped screaming to stare at Luca.
Rage washed over Alva in a haze of electric blue, and he knew no more.
When the Hermit came back to himself, the cheerleader was still chaired, and the two other survivors were sprawled on the ground nearby, bleeding copiously from multiple wounds. They wouldn’t last more than a minute, each, and they were certainly in no condition to run even if they did manage to stand.
Alva drew a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket, exactly where he had kept one in life, and wiped away a splatter of blood on his cheek.
A choked noise drew his attention to the ground. Luca Balsa was struggling in the dirt at his feet, blood pooling around his head, choking as Alva’s staff, pinned directly through his neck, held him to the ground. Alva looked down at him dispassionately. He looked like a fish on a hook, struggling in a sea of red.
The white collar of his shirt was nearly entirely dyed in red now, and the pin in his hair was broken, bits of gold flaking into the sienna of his hair. His eyes were shaking wildly, in search of Alva’s, and his hands twitched spasmodically at his sides.
His lips moved.
Alva…
“Not good enough.”
A few feet away, the perfumer coughed and slumped into the grass, still.
Alva yanked the staff out of Luca’s neck and felt feral pleasure at the way he shivered, a single tear slipping down the side of his face into the blood soaking the ground, before Alva stabbed it through his neck again, and his eyes went dull.
After the match, as he always did, Alva went to the study in the hunters’ quarters of the manor to read until long after the manor had gone dark for the night, anything to escape the memory of the light leaving Luca’s eyes.
When he got there, Luca was already there.
He was sitting slumped inside the study, just beside the fireplace, nodding off, knees drawn up to his chest and arms folded around his legs. His head was slumped forward onto his chest, and Alva saw while he still wore the academy uniform, although it had been cleaned or replaced after the match, he had undone his ponytail, and his hair was falling soft and loose around his face, hiding his eyes.
It hurt, seeing him like this.
Almost alive, as if he had only to leave the manor and return to life just as he had left it.
However he had died, it had not been peaceful. The Luca that walked the halls of the manor was not the same boy who’d once worn the academy uniform. He was colder now, mocking, his sanity long since left. He was fractured and angry, and Alva had never imagined Luca could look at him like that. Like he was fated for the execution block, and that Alva held the axe. Worst of all were the scars that the bandages didn’t cover.
How long had it taken for him to die? Somehow, Alva couldn’t imagine Luca’s life being snuffed out as fast as his–whatever it was, he would fight it til the light finally went out. He had survived at least one game at the manor, but how long afterwards? Did he feel the shadow of it coming nearer, or had he thought he would get out til the end?
Had he suffered?
The study was an exact replica of Alva’s office, as it had been in life. There were many rooms like that in the manor–though Alva didn’t recognize them, he had no doubt it was meant for one of the other participants to walk into and recall the best and worst times of their lives.
Someone had thoughtfully placed a bottle of scotch and a glass with ice on the end table beside the wingback chair Alva had always favored for late-night reading, and he poured himself a glass as he listened to Luca sleep. The chair faced away from him, and that he was glad of. If he looked at Luca too long he would have him in his hands in a second.
There was a creak at the door, and he turned to see Ann, cat perched on her shoulder. Both of their amber eyes were pinning him where he sat, obviously disapproving of the alcohol in his hand.
“It’s very late. You ought to take those clothes off and go to bed,” she said, her nose wrinkling at the bloodstains on the crisp white linen of Alva’s shirt. She glanced beyond Alva’s chair, scanning the study quickly, and saw Luca, eyes widening, but thankfully said nothing. Some of the other survivors and hunters had friendly relationships, and Ann was quite perceptive–she had likely already noticed the odd tension between Alva and Luca since the day Luca had come to the manor.
Alva neglected to state the obvious–that neither of them went to bed, not really–and took another long drink of his scotch. His head was swimming pleasantly, in a way he hadn’t recalled since he’d been alive. “I will in a moment.”
“Shall I make sure this one gets back to his quarters?”
“I’ll wake him in a moment.”
Ann nodded and left, the door clicking shut behind her. Alva swung his chair around so it was facing away from the door, and towards Luca, still sleeping by the fireplace.
“Balsa,” Alva said. “Get up.”
At the sharpness in Alva’s tone, Luca stirred, and a slight smile lit his features when he met Alva’s gaze. “You never came to bed.”
“And you should be in yours.”
“After that match today? I couldn’t if I tried.” Getting to his feet, Luca sauntered across the study to where Alva sat, in a pale imitation of his old confident, long-limbed stride. He took a moment to glance around the study, eyes snagging on the books Alva knew he had read, the textbooks that seemed pulled out of time. “It’s funny you still come here, even though you’ve been enlightened . Science doesn’t suit you anymore. You’ve abandoned all you stood for once.”
He reached a finger out to trace the line of Alva’s jaw, the pale scar that splintered down his cheek, and grinned, that crooked canine of his white in the dim candlelight of the library. “It’s sad how I keep looking for you anyway.”
Then he dropped to his knees between Alva’s legs, looking up at him in a way that made heat curl low in Alva’s stomach as he leaned in, tilting his head as if for a kiss, his cheek against Alva’s thigh. Alva drained the last of his scotch and set the glass down hard on the end table as Luca mouthed at his crotch, the rapidly hardening bulge there. The alcohol threaded its way down his throat, scorching. He could feel the heat of Luca’s mouth through the thin fabric, and he hissed out a sharp breath through his teeth as Luca pulled away just a bit to undo the button.
“ Not –here,” was all he could get out before Luca brushed his finger over the wet spot on the fabric, and his mind went blank.
Luca pulled down his pants and underwear down slowly, to just underneath Alva’s reddened cock, almost fully hard against his stomach now, beaded with precome. Alva inhaled sharply and tipped his head back, banging it against the carved edge of the wingback chair as Luca pressed his lips to Alva’s tip and licked the slit.
His fingers were on the base of Alva’s shaft, wrapping around it, sliding gently up and down as he took Alva into his mouth bit by bit. Alva’s hand found his way to Luca’s head, resting gently atop it as Luca licked the underside of his shaft and took him into his mouth again, deeper this time. He was drawing this out purposely–would take Alva into his mouth just slightly and suck, and then draw back just before Alva could lose himself in the feeling.
Just then, the study door creaked open.
“Are you going to sleep? You’ve another match tomorrow, and it wouldn’t do to lose your composure again.” Ann’s voice came from the doorway, and he prayed she wasn’t looking too closely this time.
“ Yes ,” Alva gritted out. He fisted his hand in Luca’s hair, yanking the soft strands hard, but that only seemed to encourage him further instead of make him pull off. Luca’s nose brushed his stomach, buried in the soft hairs at the base of his cock, and Alva bit back a groan as his tip brushed the back of Luca’s throat.
“Pardon?” Ann sounded startled. “Is everything alright? You sound a bit pained.”
“I’m—I’m fine—“ Alva was about to come. If Luca didn’t stop sucking his cock like he was trying to inhale it he would come.
“Good night, then.”
Her footsteps retreated, and he heard the door shut, just as Luca took him all the way in again. Alva’s orgasm crashed over him, and everything went white as he pulled Luca’s mouth flush against his stomach, fucking fast and hard into his throat, feeling him choke as Alva came, filling his mouth.
He ground against Luca’s mouth even after he came, trembling with aftershocks, guilt and shame striking him with equal measure.
Luca pulled off his cock and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he got to his feet. He moved towards the end table and poured a measure of Scotch into Alva’s empty glass. As he drank, his mouth twisted slightly at the resulting scorch, and he set the glass down with a click. “Good night, then, sir.”
Luca turned to go, and anger burned through Alva quick and bright as a flash. He was on his feet in a second, sweeping Luca off his feet before he could react. The study was down the hall from his bedroom–it was dark and silent, but he hurried anyway. Luca’s arms were around his neck, heat racing through him. He pushed open the door to his room and tossed Luca down on the bed in one swift motion.
He pulled his shirt off slowly, and let it fall to the ground beside the bed. Luca was on his back on the mattress, eyes tracking Alva’s hands as he undressed.
Alva took his time taking off Luca’s clothes. He boxed him in, knees on either side of Luca’s thighs, feeling Luca’s hips shift under his, moving for better access to his clothed erection. Despite the darkness of the bedroom, his fingers found the buttons of Luca’s uniform shirt with ease and popped them one by one, enjoying the way his breath caught every time Alva’s fingers touched bare skin. He pulled the shirt open, exposing Luca’s chest, and thumbed one of his nipples before he brought his mouth to it.
He nipped at Luca’s throat, his collarbone, his bruised lips, just hard enough to leave a mark each time, trailing down Luca’s chest and stopping just shy of his waistband. Alva slipped down his pants and Luca kicked them the rest of the way off.
Then his hands were around Alva’s neck again, dragging him back to him for a kiss, and when Alva’s lips met his, he bit down on his lower lip til blood welled. Luca kissed him hungrily, open-mouthed–he tasted like alcohol and the blood trickling from the corner of Alva’s mouth. His heartbeat was wild in his chest, and Alva stayed his palm there for a beat, to feel it as if between his fingers.
Alva’s fingers traced up Luca’s inner thigh, lining them up with Luca’s hole, and Luca opened his thighs, arching his back to allow Alva better access.
One finger slid past the ring of muscle, slowly filling him, and Luca trembled underneath him and dug his nails into Alva’s shoulders as he added a second one. Alva spread his fingers bit by bit, stretching him, enjoying the sounds he made. When he found the spot, Luca jolted underneath him, a whine slipping from his mouth. “Th-there–”
In answer Alva crooked his fingers slightly, pressing there, and Luca moaned. “You haven’t asked for it,” Alva said. “Or have you forgotten that, too?” He rubbed against Luca’s prostate again, and Luca bit back another moan, his cock twitching, neglected, against his stomach.
“Please,” Luca begged, his voice shaky. “Please touch me.”
“That’s better.” Then Alva set a brutal pace, fucking his fingers into Luca’s hole, hitting his prostate repeatedly, his own cock throbbing at the sharp gasps and whimpers that are all Luca was able to get out. He was on the edge of tears, Alva could tell.
“I’m–”
Alva wrapped his fingers hard against the base of Luca’s cock, cutting off his release just as it hit, and Luca finally sobbed. “I said please!”
Alva dragged Luca’s hips down til he was fully seated on his cock, ignoring Luca’s sharp pants and whimpers of pain. He could tell he’d torn Luca slightly–there was warmth seeping around the base of his cock, making the wet slide all the more easier as Luca took him in.
He took his time drawing out slowly and pushing back in, slowly and agonizingly, until Luca was shuddering and panting again, and beads of blood from the nail marks were weeping down Alva’s back. He picked up the pace then, fucking into Luca faster now, rougher, even deeper than before.
“Ah– Alva, please–” Luca was clenching around him, holding him in, even as he cried out every time Alva hit his prostate with agonizing force. Alva’s thrusts came faster, more erratic–Luca was close, and he wanted to see him completely undone. He slammed into him again, burying his cock deep in Luca’s ass again, and Luca bit his shoulder hard, drawing blood.
When Alva snapped his hips and hit his prostate again, Luca came, cum spurting from his untouched cock and hitting his stomach in a milky white thread, and that was enough to tip Alva over the edge as well. Release crashed through him, and he fucked into Luca again and again as his orgasm hit, painting Luca’s insides white, tearing another moan from his throat.
When they finally separated, they were both breathing hard, and Alva had to fight down the urge to push Luca down and have him again. Instead he watched as Luca got out of bed and disappeared to the washroom. As always, the sudden absence of him made Alva’s room seem colder than before. He pulled his shirt back on, the warmth of Luca’s skin still branding him. The bites on his neck and shoulders stung.
He expected Luca to pull his clothes back on and leave, as he normally did. Instead when Luca came back, he merely pulled the kicked-aside bedsheets over him and climbed back into the bed. He moved until his body was flush with Alva’s, his heated chest warming Alva’s, and settled there.
He could feel Luca’s heart pounding still, so hard it almost felt like his own heartbeat. The top of Luca’s head was tucked under his chin, his soft hair tickling Alva’s jaw, and his back, pressed into Alva’s chest felt as if it were burning him, white-hot. He was shaking slightly, the way he had in the match that afternoon, and Alva shook his head slightly, warding off the vision of him bleeding out in the dirt. He wrapped his arms around Luca and heard him sigh.
Luca’s hand curled in the fabric at Alva’s chest, and he pressed his face deeper into Alva’s neck. “I’m scared,” Luca said quietly, the whisper brushing Alva’s skin. “This place shouldn’t exist.”
Alva closed his eyes. “I know.” As the Hermit, he had long ago given up logic and reason in order to keep his sanity. This manor went ungoverned by the laws of reality. Science was not a principle this world ran on. There were worse things than death, and the body, as Alva had always insisted, did not simply cease to function. Imagining worse things than this manor left Alva with a deep, sinking feeling. At least in this manor, they had light.
Outside of it, in the fathomless darkness, Alva had no doubt much worse things awaited.
He held Luca as his trembling ceased and his breathing evened into fitful sleep. In the darkness, Alva traced the outline of Luca’s form with his eyes, etching it into his mind. The exact feeling of his body against Alva’s chest, warm and real. The slight pins in his spine–he was too slight, and Alva could feel his ribs when his palm found Luca’s chest, the heartbeat that thumped against his hand. He pressed his mouth into Luca’s hair.
“Don’t leave me.”