Devour
First posted in 2018
Set sometime after The Wolf in the Garden
Summary: Miki has stars in his eyes and vodka on his breath. Diego adores him. m/m
Tags: alcohol
“Diego.”
Miki had stars in his eyes. His cheeks were ripe with color, and he had stars in his eyes, and he smelled of alcohol but Diego didn’t mind. His Miki did not drink, not often, although he occasionally downed vodka with Rennet whenever the imp would appear.
Vodka, Diego had learned, was not Rennet’s drink of choice, but if the imp was feeling nostalgic, he would show up with a bottle in one hand. The label was always in Russian. He and Miki drank it straight, although Miki still never had much.
Diego didn’t understand how anyone could drink it, but wolves had different opinions about these things.
In any case, a few shots did nothing to Rennet, and left Miki sleepy as well as sad, then hungry for stinging kisses and Diego’s arms around him.
Whatever was in the glass Miki’s coworkers had ordered for him before dinner was not vodka, or at least, not vodka alone.
Diego had gotten a whiff and flinched from the sharp smell of alcohol, but Miki didn’t seem to have noticed it. The drink was pretty and bright, and Miki finished it in moments, then sipped another, and perhaps another, if Diego had been distracted and hadn’t seen the arrival of a replacement.
“Diego,”
Miki said again, leaning most of his weight against Diego’s side and gazing up at him while too many of his coworkers smiled and cheered him on. “You are painfully handsome.”
Miki told him this gravely, but then reached up to cup Diego’s jaw. “You are much too handsome. I don’t know what to do with a handsome man.”
It was not an easy thing, making a werewolf of Diego’s age blush, yet here he was, hot beneath his clothes and reveling in his Miki’s admiration.
“You know exactly what to do with a handsome man, querido.”
Diego liked the startled heat in Miki’s expression, the slow burn of want in how he said Diego’s name, and the tremble in his pretty bottom lip.
Miki’s coworkers possibly liked it too. They probably didn’t get to see Miki this way. Diego didn’t mind sharing, a little, in that case, with people who would at most gently tease Miki for it on Monday. New couples were often teased, and right now, although they had been together for some time, Miki had honeymoons in his eyes.
“Diego,”
Miki breathed. The sting of alcohol was easier to ignore when Miki twined his arm around Diego’s neck and pulled him closer. But then he shook his head, as if he were arguing with Diego and not luring him in once again. “What is it you think I do?”
he demanded, quietly aristocratic. Beneath the liquor, he was warm and earthy and floral, but the sharpness of the alcohol clung to him like a warning.
His coworkers had gone strangely quiet. Diego didn’t think they had ever seen Miki with his chin up and his gaze bold, throat on display.
He was so dangerous.
Diego reached up to clasp Miki’s hand and pull it to his mouth. He kissed Miki’s scarred, rough palm before releasing it, letting Miki curl around him even tighter than before.
“You consume him,”
Diego answered at last, softly, for Miki and no one else.
Miki shook his head, a denial, but then regarded Diego heavily with half-closed eyes. “You’re too handsome to be mine. I must be dreaming.”
He scratched his fingers through Diego’s short hair.
“Oh,”
said one of Miki’s coworkers. Diego only vaguely concerned himself with whatever they were realizing.
“Shall I swear my devotion to you again?”
Diego pushed the last of Miki’s drink away. He supposed he should feel older or so very inhuman around youthful, drinking humans like this. But his Miki was delighted and Diego didn’t care about anything else. “Querido.”
“Diego,”
Miki answered almost immediately, his brief moment of trained, seductive intensity gone and replaced once more with pink cheeks and shining eyes.
Diego tipped his head down to brush a kiss over Miki’s parted, soft lips.
Miki stared at him, roses and blackberries and wisteria again, the Miki the others knew.
“You have stars in your eyes,”
Diego informed him. This was not the Miki of vodka and memories, but Diego did not think he would mind this one making an appearance from time to time.
Miki did not shake his head. He held Diego’s gaze like a movie star or an ancient fae or even, perhaps, a firebird, before slowly sliding his arm down to offer Diego his hand.
Diego kissed it.
The End