Normal

The first thing that Devon was aware of as he regained consciousness, was the cold air sliding across the back of his leg. The second thing was the pressure of his bladder. His eyes had crusted shut the way they always did this time of year, and moving to Florida hadn’t helped that any. He rolled to his back, knuckling at one despite the fact that it tore at his lashes and irritated his lids, and forced the other to open on its own. He’d pay for that later, but he had to see the body that belonged to the weight in the bed next to him.

Seeing, however, was easier to want than to accomplish. The sheet that had slid half off of the curtain rod at the window was open just enough to expose a sky that had barely begun to lighten. Devon stared at the dark hair on the pillow. Not unruly enough. Not wild enough. Not Nasr. He leaned closer, closer, a hand moving to hover over the brown shoulder that was exposed just above the blanket. Still warm. So not a corpse. And he craned, struggling to see the face, his breath held lest he wake some sleeping demon.

It wasn’t a demon, however. It was.. just a man. A man with full lips and soft breaths, with dark eyes that seemed to suck him in as they rolled open to stare sleepily up at him. The man rolled just enough to regard Devon comfortably, and Devon was suddenly keenly aware of how he must look--some sick psychopath with crusty eyes hovering over his boyfriend as he slept.

“Hey,” Miguel whispered, the word not quite a question.

“Hey,” Devon replied in kind, shrinking back into his own space.

He should have gotten up, had a piss, and set a warm washcloth to his eyes. He should have at least closed the window, since apparently the weather was changing. He rubbed again at one eye, and froze, tensing as Miguel rolled into him. A warm arm draped over his chest, and a leg wrapped about his own to tug it closer.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Miguel asked quietly.

“Gotta pee,” Devon grunted back.

“So go pee,” Miguel suggested.

As though it were that easy. Still, Devon went sliding sideways, reluctant to move from beneath the warmth of Miguel’s draped limbs.

“And hurry back. I’m still sore from last night, but I bet I can go again before I have to get ready for work.” Miguel’s teeth were white in the wan light of the room as he flashed Devon a smile.

Devon snorted, leaned close to bite at the man’s mouth, and then abandoned the bed for the bathroom. He should hurry back, he knew, but it took forever for the hot water to warm up, and the way his eyelashes were sticking together was painful. By the time he was done soaking them and picking the last of the goo free, Miguel was snoring softly from the other room. Devon knew he could wake Miguel up. The man wouldn’t mind, might even appreciate it. Instead he turned back, twisted the spout for the hot water in the shower, and settled into a lean against the sink.

Staring blearily into the mirror, his eyes still rimmed red, the tops of his shoulders mottled with bruises and bite marks, Devon had the strange sensation that he was staring at a stranger. His hair had been short for nearly a year now, but he still wasn’t used to it. It had taken on some body when he’d cut it, so that it was unruly, and his bedhead spiked in strange ways about his ears. And was that a fucking gray? He wasn’t even twenty-five yet! How could he have a fucking gray?

Devon froze when something in the mirror moved. Something in the background that wasn’t him. Just past his shoulder. He didn’t startle or jump or scream. He just stood very, very still and didn’t look at it until his heart had slowed down a little. He continued to stand still, moving just his eyes.. But there was nothing there. There usually wasn’t.

Devon abandoned the sink, and stepped into the spray of the shower when it was still just a little too cool. Anything was better than the mirror.


Ten minutes later, there were footsteps outside of the shower. Devon froze, shampoo in his hair, and listened. The toilet. The sink.. A toothbrush.

“You left the door open again,” Miguel pointed out between spits.

“I always leave the door open.”

“You didn’t come back to bed?”

Devon didn’t answer. What was he supposed to say to that? He hadn’t come back to bed. He stuck his head under the spray to rinse the shampoo off, and so he’d have an excuse for not hearing if the man kept speaking.

The curtain moved. Cheap plastic stuck to his leg, then peeled away. Devon slicked back his hair--too short, way too short--and opened his eyes to stare through his little box of steam. Miguel grinned, grabbed the soap in one hand, and then caught Devon’s hip with the other. Miguel squeezed hard enough to almost bruise.

“How ‘bout you stop brooding in the shower, and we do something fun instead,” he said, rather than asked, as he pulled Devon close.

This was normal, Devon reminded himself. It wasn’t a threat. They’d been living together for nearly a year now, and Miguel liked it in the shower. Hell, Miguel liked it everywhere. It was just sex. He didn’t mean anything dangerous when he used the word fun. The most dangerous Miguel got was with bites and hickeys.. And that one time they risked getting caught on the bus, but they’d both been very drunk and it hadn’t really gone anywhere anyway.

“Hey,” Miguel said as he slid a soapy hand along the small of Devon’s back, and down over his ass. “I said stop brooding, not brood anyway.” Miguel grinned through the steam and spray. “I don’t want you brooding when I shove my dick in your ass.”

Devon laughed. Miguel puffed up triumphantly. And then the wall was rushing to meet Devon’s hands as he caught himself, feet slipping on the bottom of the tub, Miguel’s hands tight at his waist.

“Hey!” Devon gasped, all indignation at being turned unexpectedly about.

“Fastest way to get you hard is to surprise you,” Miguel replied as he crowded close. “You think I didn’t notice?”

“Fuck you,” Devon grunted irritably, but he didn’t move away. He set his legs a little wider, and dropped one hand to squeeze at the half-hard hang of his cock as Miguel pressed up behind him. The man’s cock settled hard and perfect along the crack of Devon’s ass, and Miguel’s arms wound about Devon in a firm embrace.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Miguel promised over Devon’s shoulder.

Devon relaxed, a sigh pouring out of him, expelled from what felt like the bottom of his soul. It was so deep and long it must have started in his toes.

“There you go,” Miguel all but cooed.

Was Devon imagining the smug satisfaction in the man’s voice? He decided it didn’t matter. Not with the way Miguel had moved, forcing Devon’s weight to tip so a soap-slippery finger could probe between his ass cheeks.

Devon slid his feet along the bottom of the tub, bracing them carefully against the dingy side lest he go slipping to his death at Miguel’s feet. Miguel crowded close again, sliding his finger into Devon with practiced ease, twisting and drawing it around before slipping another in to join it. Devon, breath quickening, cock twitching with sluggish interest, braced his forearm to the tile, and his brow to his forearm.

“See? That ain’t so bad, baby,” Miguel praised quietly. “I could just stand here all day and fuck you with my fingers if we didn’t have places to be.”

The water pattered against Devon’s side, hot enough that the steam was almost oppressive in his face. He didn’t like being called baby, but he never corrected Miguel. He’d never told him. It was his guilty little secret, forcing the unwitting Miguel to belittle him without even knowing he was doing so. Devon grabbed and squeezed at his cock where it jutted hard and aching now.

“Mmm,” Miguel hummed as his fingers slid free. “You want it? Tell me you want it,” he urged Devon.

Devon didn’t want to tell him. Not for the neediness in his tone. Not for how fucking much Miguel talked sometimes, but said all the wrong things. But.. this was what normal people did, wasn’t it? He was trying to be normal. Normal job. Normal apartment. Normal boyfriend.

Normal boyfriend who was sliding his cock along Devon’s ass like an anxious dog humping his leg.

“C’mon, Devon,” Miguel urged, his hand sliding around to join Devon’s at his cock, to grasp and roll Devon’s balls between his fingers. “I can feel how bad you want it.”

Normal boyfriend who needed Devon to speak his consent.

“I want it,” Devon answered, and picked his head up to look back over his shoulder at the man. “Fuck me, Miguel. I don’t want to be able to stand straight while I’m working today.”

Miguel didn’t give Devon a smartass remark, or smack his ass, or promise him a thousand different ways in which he might not stand straight. Instead he pressed close, the broad head of his cock sliding slippery with soap, stretching Devon wide.

Devon could hear the man’s excited breath, feel his kneading grip at his hips. The water was almost uncomfortable, and Devon took some refuge in that as Miguel’s hand slid up from Devon’s balls to twine fingers and guide their hands along his aching cock. Miguel--so considerate that he’d jerk Devon off even before Miguel had got himself in all the way.

Devon shut his eyes. He pulled his hand away and brought it up to the wall to feel the cool tile. The crumbling grout. He curled his nails into it as Miguel thrust, withdrew, and thrust again.. warming himself up slowly to a faster pace. It was a cock in his ass, and that was good, though it conflicted with the narrative his imagination was imposing upon him.

Hey! Hey, Dev. Devvy. Dev, hey!

Devon gasped, and jerked, his head lifting again where it had come up from his arm.

“Yeah, you like that, baby? Mmh, that good for you?” Miguel rasped as his hips smacked home again, and Devon could tell he was trying to maintain the angle, hasten the speed.

Devon groaned quietly. Miguel went a little faster, though he let go of Devon’s cock to manage it. Miguel took Devon by the hips instead, bracing for balance, gripping for leverage. Devon shuddered, imagining it deeper, longer, imagining the claws tearing along his ribs--

Your boyfriend know you think of me when he’s fucking you, Devvy? Shiii~it that’s kinky.

The voice was a mocking, derisive cackle in his head. The tones all belittlement and cruelty. Devon squeezed his eyes shut and tugged at himself, rasping and grunting quietly as Miguel worked excitedly into him.

“Fuck.. oh, fuck. I’m gonna cum--I’m gonna do it, Devon, baby. Baby--oh!” Miguel jerked forward, his hips smacking against Devon’s ass and rocking flush, jerking forward in short, sharp rolls as his cock pulsed briefly thicker at Devon’s ass.

Devon barely heard. He was lost behind his eyes. Lost to darkness and creepy shadows and hooks in his skin. He was lost to the memory of sweating and screaming, the sound of his own sobs in his ears. He could smell the blood, taste the bile. The world erupted in silver and red, and Devon let a loud, strangled groan into the hiss of the shower as his stroking hand stilled, gripping, and he came hard against the tile. Really came, for the first time in weeks.

That’s really fucked, Dev.

Miguel was wrapping his arms around Devon again, holding him close, praising and kissing his shoulders as hips gave a residual few rocks. Devon, safe in the shelter between his arm and the wall, let his cock go to pant gently in his afterglow. It was difficult not to cry, but he figured he could hide that in the shower once Miguel had finished fawning over his back.

Yer fucked, Dev. Devvy. Dev. Hey. He know how much you hate it when he does that?

Devon rattled through an uneasy breath. Ghost in his head. How long had it been since he had heard that voice? Nearly two years.

Miguel slid out, and Devon turned into the shower’s spray. He turned more under the guidance of Miguel’s hands, and they draped arms and just stood there in there luxurious heat. The landlord was going to complain about the water bill again, but Devon couldn’t bring himself to care. Nearly two years since he’d buried the box holding two long, curving horns. How long would it take before he stopped conjuring Nasr’s voice in his head?

Ain’t you know nothin’, fuckhead? Demons can’t die, you stupid shit.

Devon tensed, jerking, raising his head so fast he nearly slipped on the residual soap sluicing away beneath his heels.

“No!” he cried before he could stop himself.

Miguel said something, but the question was lost--lost beneath the loud cackling that filled the space between Devon’s ears. Really, he should have known better.