Chapter 5
five
DANTE
The morning after my flare, I wake in a patch of sunlight, warmed by both the early morning rays and a very long, svelte body pressed against me.
It takes me a moment, with just a whisper of panic, before I remember who’s in my bed.
I stretch my legs downward as far as they can go, my toes gliding along the velvety Vyastil skin until they reach the thicker, almost bird-like feet.
I can’t reach the tips of his claws, but I drag the touch around his ankles—or whatever joints the monsters have—and he snuffles a bit before the purring in his chest resumes.
Cielo isn’t holding me the way he had been when I dropped off, but his head is tipped down toward me, and his hair is falling over my chest.
The very last thing in the world I want is to get up, and dear god, it’s almost impossible to peel myself away from his arms. I’m still a little fatigued from the pain, and my muscles ache like I spent all night at the gym instead of curled up in Cielo’s arms.
But I also feel better than I have in a long, long while.
I’ve been suffering from these bouts of pain for years now. My brother and Gia both know, but I’ve begged them to keep their mouths and hands quiet about it. The last thing in the world I want is for my parents to find out and start hovering and trying to help in their incredibly unhelpful way.
I have no clue what’s causing these issues, only that it’s something to do with my nerves and that, apart from a couple medications that make me feel worse than the flares, there’s no real treatment.
I’ve been through every test, been poked, prodded, and scanned, but my results always come back inconclusive.
So, I’ve been living with it, trying to manage the symptoms with no hope for a cure. And last night was the first time I’d been able to get through it without sobbing. I don’t really know what to think about that, but I do know it had something to do with Cielo, and I wish I had a way to thank him.
Stretching, I swing my legs off the bed and hold my breath as I stand. Cielo shifts a little, rolling onto his side and snuffling his face into my pillow. His purring gets a little louder, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to crawl back into bed.
I walk into the bathroom instead, hoping my morning routine will distract me. If Cielo is going to sleep for a while, that’ll give me time to take care of what I need. I want to wash the pain-sweat off my body, and considering that I’m already hard, I can fill a few jars for Cielo’s recovery.
It seems like he’s mostly done healing, but I don’t want to stop giving him my cum.
Knowing that Rathyn takes at least fifteen a day from Everest tells me that Cielo could and should have more.
But he won’t accept any of it from me, and as much as I want to fill fifteen jars for him, I have a feeling he’d start to question where it was all coming from.
Not to mention that while I have stamina, I don’t have that much stamina.
No matter how sexy he is—and dear god, he is fucking sexy.
I’ve always found the Vyastil hauntingly beautiful, but there’s something about Cielo that’s different. I felt something shift in my chest the second I set eyes on him at my shop, and I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since.
And that makes this part easy.
Turning on the water, I twist the knob over to as hot as I can stand it, then take the first jar and stand with my back under the spray, my forehead pressed against the tiles, one hand on my dick, and the other ready to catch what I spill.
It doesn’t take me long to get fully hard. All I have to do is think about Cielo’s mostly naked body pressed up against me last night. The heat of him, the way he rumbled in his chest, the way he held me…
Fuck.
The fantasy comes easily after that. I can picture his long, pierced tongue wrapping around mine, gliding down my neck, teasing my nipples, dipping lower.
I can almost feel exactly how it would be when he got his lips around me, carefully protecting me from his fangs, his mouth pulsing around my cock as he coaxed an orgasm out of me.
My wrist starts to ache with how fast I’m jerking myself, but I’m so fucking close already. My abs jump as the first orgasm sneaks up on me, and I only just manage to bite back a sob as I shove the tip of my dick against the opening of the jar and cum.
And cum.
And oh fuck, I’m still going.
I didn’t realize how much I had in me, but it fills the jar nearly halfway, and my hands tremble as I cap it, then set it aside.
Reaching for the soap, I feel my heart start to slow as I lather myself up and rinse off. There’s a bit of pink running off my shoulders in tiny rivers from the recent dye job I did, and I get distracted by watching the color swirl down the drain.
My hair hangs long over my shoulders when it’s not braided or pulled into a bun, and it reminds me of Cielo’s long locks. His hair feels different from human hair—the strands thicker and tougher, like I could wrap them around my fist and pull, and it wouldn’t cause him pain.
My mind conjures up visions of his mouth after that—little fangs poking over his lips—one slightly longer than the other. And god, his eyes—the black scleral pools with rainbow orbs sitting on top. The way he watches me, tracking me through each room, is heady.
If it were anyone else—anything else—I would have been antsy and furious.
But with him, it’s different.
With him, I want to be seen.
My dick’s hard again, and I grab the other jar, quickly jerking myself to completion at the thought of his long tongue slipping into my ass and licking me into oblivion.
Would he like the taste? I have no idea what it’s like for them.
Everest has hinted that Rathyn feels pleasure—that he wants things other than sucking dick—but I don’t know for sure if that extends to all Vyastil.
It’s the one thing that’s gotten in the way of my motivation to make toys for the Vyastil.
I have a feeling they want more, to experience these very human sensations, but I have no means of understanding exactly what that might look like. I could ask Cielo—at least, once he’s absorbed enough ASL to have that conversation—but I’m not sure if I should.
Letting out a trembling breath, I cap the second jar, wash my hands and arms, and then swipe soap over my dick before rinsing off and reaching for my robe.
I don’t hear anything on the other side of the door, so I assume Cielo’s still asleep, which makes all of this easier. I take my time with my hair, twisting thick locks in a single Dutch braid along the center of my crown before gathering the rest into a messy bun.
I throw on a little lip gloss, pull on a loose shirt and a pair of leggings, then slip back into the bedroom where I find Cielo still slumbering. He’s on his back now, one arm flung over his head, his mouth parted with each soft breath.
He looks calm. Like the weight of both his world and mine isn’t resting on his shoulders. I wish it could be like that all the time, but I know the moment he wakes, he’ll feel it. The pain of being cast out from Erethar. The strangeness of the human realm—a place where he’s not even fully welcome.
A place where he can’t even speak a language.
I wish to the gods I could do more.
I debate waking him to let him know I’m off to work, but instead, I rip off a piece of an old electric bill, grab a pen and scribble a note, leaving it on my pillow for him to find, along with the bottles on the bedside table.
My chest aches at the idea that he’ll be by himself all day and lonely, but I can’t neglect the rest of my life just for him.
No matter how much I want to.
My walk to work is thankfully short—across the street and around a back alley to get in and open the shop—and I settle behind my desk, taking care of inventory before I open.
But I’m not fully here. Not my mind, my body, or my heart.
No, the rest of me is back in my little apartment with the battered, bruised monster in my bed, wondering if my presence and my cum are enough to help him heal.
Normally, when I close in the early afternoon for lunch, I jet up the street to the gym so I can get a short workout in.
I’m still in my “new year, new me” era, but right now, there’s not a chance in hell I’m spending any time away from my apartment until I know that Cielo’s going to be okay.
And honestly, I’m not feeling a hundred percent after the flare.
It also doesn’t help that I’ve already gotten a handful of worried texts from Everest. I’d think the guy was in love with my monster if I didn’t know he was so ass-over-tits in love with his own.
But after the last bout of worried texts, I promised Everest I’d go check on Cielo, which is the perfect excuse to see him. I make my way back across the street and let myself in through the front door, a little anxiety fizzing through my veins.
I think I’ll be worried for a while that one day I’ll come home and he’ll just be…gone. Like he was never here at all.
Luckily, the first thing I hear is music on the TV, and when I walk into the room, I see a very old, familiar video playing.
It takes me a minute to recognize what it is, but at the sight of laughing, signing children, I realize they’re the tapes my parents brought home so Gia and I could practice our ASL.
“Who gave you those?” I ask, stepping into the room. I spot Cielo, who’s on the couch, eyes heavy-lidded with fatigue. Some of his scars and marks are fading, but I have a feeling that even with cum, they’re going to mar his body forever.
He blinks at me for a moment, then lifts a hand and spells flawlessly, ‘LUCA.’ Then he gives his sign name.
My brows fly up. “Wait, Luca visited you before he left for Vegas?”
‘Yes. Few hours ago.’ Again, flawless ASL. No hesitation, no searching for the signs. It’s a wonder how quickly the Vyastil learn. With Cielo, it doesn’t scare me, but some of the others… ‘You finish work?’