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Three days later, consumed by a grief that surprised and concerned him, Chas
found himself lingering a few steps away from the assembled group of mourners at
a burial at dusk in New Orlean's St. Louis #3 cemetery of a lover of his from
his earlier life. Jake had been his bike mate in the biker's club Chas had
ridden with before Philippe possessed him. They had been inseparable and had
been enthusiastic lovers. After Chas had disappeared into Philippe's world, Jake
had left the biker club, had married, and had developed a highly successful
automobile dealership from an initial startup of a bike repair shop. Then, old,
fat, and overindulged, he had died of a hardened-arteries-induced heart attack.
Chas recognized many of the men who attended the funeral; he had ridden with
them alongside Jake in that earlier life, so many worlds ago. But they didn't
recognize him and would not have even if he had stepped into the grouping around
the grave site. They were all well into their fifties, and Chas had aged,
certainly, but not farther then into his early thirties yet. He was still
basically the same young, beefy blond stud he'd been back then. They were all
well into the middle ages now.
Chas ached in his mourning for his lost lover and his loins took a lurch when
the mourners began to disperse and pulled away from a young man persistent in
remaining standing at the grave. Jake's son. There was no doubt that it was
Jake's son. A handsome, olive-skinned, dark-haired, lithe youth of delicate
facial features and almost a dancing quality of movement.
Chas stood, transfixed. And the buzzing in his ears from the long delay in his
necessary feeding began to turn into voices inside his head telling him that
this wasn't Jake's son at all—it was Jake himself. Here to reunite with his
long-lost lover. Waiting on Chas; wanting to be taken by Chas as he had been so
many times before. Open to his lover.
Everyone but the two of them were gone now. It was growing dark and mist was
coming in from the river and filtering through the silent cemetery. The voices
were winning. Chas approached the young Jake and turned him around so that they
were facing each other. The voices were right. This was the face of the youthful
Jake, and his expression was one of surprise, certainly, but Chas could see the
unmistakable signs of recognition and welcome. The voices buzzing in his head
were assuring Chas that Jake knew who he was and what he had come for—and that
Jake wanted this as much as Chas did.
Chas lowered his lips to Jake's and took him with a deep kiss, swabbing his
mouth cavity with that intoxicating and numbing toxin of his. Jake seemed to be
struggling with him, trying to push him away, but that had always been Jake's
game. They had liked to play games of captivity and overpowering in their love
making. This was just like old times. This truly was Jake.
Chas sank his teeth into Jake's neck and fed, and Jake increasingly accepted
Chas's love making, letting Chas take him to the ground and cover his body
closely.
Chas frantically adjusted both his and Jake's clothing and took familiar
possession of his lover's ass passage with his searching cock. Deeper and deeper
he went into his lover, who was moaning and groaning his passion and love for
what was happening to him. Jake was weakly bucking against Chas, as always
writhing in that sexy reluctance of being taken way he had to inflame his
insistent lover and to urge him to fuck him more vigorously and deeper. Chas
followed the old game. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen thick inches, drawing out
with a sucking sound and then ramming home inside his lover, going deeper with
each stroke, each stroke met with a groan of passion and desire from his lover.
And Chas—Chas the convert of Philippe—was also feeding on his Jake. He left off
fucking him twice to lower his lips to his lover's cock and to milk his essences.
And he also took time out from stroking his cock in and out of his lover to seek
out and feed on veins.
When Chas came at last some two feet up into his lover's gut, he lowered his
lips to Jake's for a kiss of ultimate merger, but Jake didn't return the
pressure. His lips were slack, and when Chas looked into his lover's eyes, all
he saw were the whites—the pupils had rolled back into his head as he had
breathed his last, sometime earlier in Chas's frenzied love making.
With a flood of recognition, Chas realized what he had done. He no longer was
possessed by the buzzing in his ears. He had fed his full now—just as he was
supposed to—and thus he once more was totally rejuvenated. But the clearing of
his mind only helped the reality of where he was and what he had done flow into
him.
This wasn't Jake broken and drained lying in his embrace. This was Jake's son.
Dead. What had Chas done? His affliction had caused him to take the life of his
own lover's son.
The horror of what he had done, of what he would have to do to lead the life
that Philippe had forced on him was overwhelming. With a cry of anguish, Chas
rose and ran into the mists swirling around the grounds of the cemetery, leaving
the broken and drained body of his best friend lying across the newly dug grave
of the young man's father.
Chas found his bike and raced back to the plantation house. He ran up the stairs,
full of hatred and self-loathing, prepared to vent all of his anger on the man
who had brought him to this point.
But all he found was a whimpering old man, a Philippe who had not fed in many
days and who was slowly decaying back into nothingness.
Philippe held out his shackled arms in despair and entreaty to his protégé,
begging him for relief and affection. And Chas took Philippe into his arms and
made tender love to him, bringing a spark of life into the ancient one by
transferring some of the vitality and youthful essences that he had just stolen
from Jake's son.
But in those tender moments of merging their body into a deep fuck with
magnificent cocks, revived by the essence of stolen youth, Chas came to another
hard decision. When he had filled Philippe with the flow of his manhood, he left
him there, sighing and growing younger and stronger, and moved down the stairs
for the last time.
He would leave the imprisoning plantation house now and the possessive arms and
influence of Philippe and prove to Philippe and to himself that he could reject
Philippe's way. He would gladly become fully human again and age naturally and
grow old and die at a natural rate. He would fight the urges of perpetual youth
and the taking of life and its essences that this demanded. And he would just
walk away from this house and let Philippe die naturally too, shackled in his
bedroom, no one to hear his cries or to save him.
Chas stopped briefly at a window in the music room and lit up a cigarette,
trying to gain courage to follow up his hard decision with action. A gust of
wind caught the curtain at the window and the flaring match touched on the dry,
rotting, silk. In an instant, flames were running up the wooden paneling of the
wall.
There was a brief moment when Chas could have done something about the fire, but
in the same instant it dawned on him that this was a much more humane death for
Philippe than slowly rotting away from lack of feeding.
And, so, Chas just walked out of the house to where the grand oaks started at
the base of the driveway and turned. The house was fully engulfed in flames. Who
would have known that it would flare up so quickly? Despite the roaring of the
fire, Chas could hear the plaintive cries of Philippe. His mentor was calling
for him; begging him to come.
Who knows whether Philippe was working his magic on Chas one last time, if Chas
had last-second thoughts of saving Philippe, or if Chas realized that he was
much too weak to will himself to grow old and die when eternal youth was within
his power? But something made him make that last hard decision, the hardest
decision of all.
After the idiotic gesture of dropping his cigarette to the ground and stamping
it out with the heel of his boot, Chas strode back into the house and mounted
the flaming staircase. He entered Philippe's bedroom, and the two clung to each
other as their world was consumed and evaporated in purifying flames.
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