Smoke & Silver

I must have dozed off.

I was back in college, in John's bed. There was a party at the small complex we'd all taken over. It was late summer, and the air was thick with heat and humidity. That wasn't why we were gasping for breath with clammy skin.

I lay next to him, tracing sigils on his back with a fingernail. He was on his stomach beside me, eyes closed.

"Protection." He whispered.

"Yeah." I smiled down at him and began to trace another shape in a different place on his back. The laughter from the party seeped in through the gaps in the window panes as it surged. There was a fire in the pit outside that threw odd shadows onto the blinds.

"That's part of a veve. Don't you dare finish it." His voice was sharp, but amused.

I laughed softly and kissed his shoulder where I'd traced a small coffin with my fingertip. He sighed and relaxed into the bed. I saw a beaded line of blood I'd raised from his back with my nails in the midst of our tryst, and leaned in to lick it away. He moaned into the pillow as my tongue met his skin. A drop of sweat slipped down my spine as I shivered. God, I loved that sound.

Funny. I never realized how dangerous or strange it was to do that when I was with him. I wouldn't have gone near anyone else's blood.

"How about this one?"

I drew a little heart high on his spine, between his shoulders. He was silent. I looked at his face. His brow was gently furrowed. He didn't open his eyes.

"I don't know."

Everything blurred for a moment. I was the one on my stomach now. His hand tangled in my hair and his teeth bit into my shoulder. The sound that came out of my throat was feral and demanding. I felt him laugh wickedly against my neck.

"That's my good girl." His voice was low and possessive and teasing all at once. I rocked back against him hungrily and could feel his lips curl as he kissed my neck.

The scene changed on me again. It was three years later. John had moved out, and I had moved into the apartment beside the one where we'd spent those sticky summer nights. It was Valentine's Day, and Isaac and I were returning to the warmth of my apartment. He carried a cheap pizza that poured steam out into the frigid air. I had to juggle two six packs of cheaper beer to open my door. Our hair smelled like cigarette smoke and the air fresheners from my car as we nested on the trash heap of a couch in my living room. We turned on some awful b-movie horror flick before tearing into the pizza and beer.

I'd spent the earlier part of the day with my girlfriend. We went to see a superhero flick before she had to prepare for classes the next day. Since we weren't exclusive, we both had outside partners. Isaac was one of mine. She was fully aware of this, and even asked me why I didn't date him. We'd been spending a lot of time together, both intimate and platonic, and it got me to thinking.

"Remember how I called you my pseudo-boyfriend?" I asked between movies, as we shivered and smoked cigarettes in lawn chairs beside my door. I was staring across the way at the apartment he shared with two more of our friends.

"Yeah?" He looked up at me. He'd been fussing with his lighter again.

"Wanna be my actual boyfriend?"

He knew about my girlfriend. He'd even been in bed with us a time or two, both together and individually.

"Sure."

His smile warmed me more than the booze.