Unbetitelt

His date for the night is a tall man with glowing skin and eyes sharper than a blade. They were supposed to go to the movies, but given this sudden turn, it seems like they won’t be doing anything at all. They’re stranded in the middle of the road; a forest lies beside them, and Michael gets the feeling that something is about to attack them.

“I thought you said the car had enough gas,” his date notes, without malice. His voice is velvety, the words flowing effortlessly, as if they weren’t effectively lost.

“I thought so,” Michael repeats sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I checked it; I don’t know why this happened.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man assures him.

He stares at Michael: he’s fidgeting with his slender fingers in his lap, his big eyes darting in every direction. Being in the middle of nowhere clearly makes him anxious; there isn’t a soul around, it’s dark, and in the distance, faint sounds of an animal running through the trees can be heard, which seems to alarm Michael. He licks his lips.

“Are you scared, Michael?” he asks in a murmur, though no one else can hear.

His lips tremble before he answers. “No… it’s not that,” he lies, offering a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s just… I’m thinking about how we can get out of this.”

His date lets out a low laugh, revealing a flash of white teeth. He doesn’t believe a word of it, but he loves watching Michael try to maintain his composure. He leans a little closer, his fingers reaching out to the denim of the boy’s jeans and gently stroking his thigh.

The caress and his date’s dark gaze make his heart race; the intensity of it leaves him feeling exposed, as if the other man knows exactly what is running through his fearful mind.

“Yeah?” he asks in a tone that makes the hair on Michael’s arms stand up. “And what do you have in mind, hm?”

Before Michael can process the question, a loud, sharp crack echoes from deep within the woods. He jumps in his seat, lets out a stifled gasp, and—purely on instinct—clutches his date’s arm, digging his fingernails into the fabric of the jacket.

His grip is tight, almost painful, but his date doesn’t flinch; instead, a spark of fascination gleams in his eyes. He can feel the uncontrollable trembling and almost hears the wild pounding of his heart in the heavy silence.

“Relax…” he murmurs, taking a trembling hand and cupping it between his own; he brings the knuckles to his lips and plants a soft kiss. “It was surely just a branch, you’re safe with me.”

Michael swallows hard, feeling the warmth of his date’s lips against his skin; the gesture, while comforting, only made his pulse race faster. There’s something about this man’s calmness that feels overwhelming, though he tries to tell himself it’s simply because they are alone in this dreadful place.

“Safe?” Michael repeats, trying to steady his breathing. He glances toward the darkness, where the silhouettes of tree branches seem to take the shape of claws. “We don’t know here, maybe it was a wild wolf or… or something worse.”

A silent laugh catches in his date’s chest; he finds Michael’s paranoia delightful to witness—it’s adorable. He interlaces his fingers with Michael’s and strokes the back of his hand with his thumb.

“What could be worse than a wolf? A generic horror movie monster?” he whispers with amusement, tilting his head. The moonlight accentuates his dark complexion, and his irises seem to sharpen.

Michael falls silent for a moment before frowning slightly. “Stop making fun; I’m serious. This place is really strange, we should’ve left before.”

The man breaks the hand-holding to cradle Michael’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. His thumb slowly traces a defined cheekbone. Michael holds his breath, mesmerized by those deep irises and the heat radiating from the man’s hands, a stark contrast to the freezing night air.

“I’m not making fun of you, angel,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s just… it’s fascinating how your imagination runs wild.”

“It’s not my imagination, it’s—”

“Shh…” the other man hushes him gently, grazing his lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “Just… focus on me, okay, angel?”

Michael freezes; the touch against his lip feels like a small electric shock. He tries to find a hint of mockery in his date’s face but finds only an absolute attentiveness that overwhelms him even more. He watches his gaze drop to his lips, with an expression he can only describe as hunger, before locking back onto his eyes.

“Y-you’re making me nervous,” Michael confesses in a whisper, even as he leans subtly into that warm touch.

“Really?” the other man replies flirtatiously, tracing his lip again. “I thought the forest was the problem…?”

“You’re worse than the forest,” Michael accuses playfully, yet his date’s dark eyes gleam as if he’s hit the mark.

The man simply smiles slyly and brings his face close to Michael’s, never letting go of him.

“Come here,” he whispers.

He presses his lips against Michael’s and begins to move them slowly. Michael lets out a low moan at the temperature; his date’s lips feel peculiarly hot, not warm, but hot—in an unnatural way, especially considering they’ve been exposed to the cold air for so long. His mind tries to process this thermal anomaly, but the demanding nature of the kiss sweeps away his thoughts.

A searing heat spreads through his mouth, melting away the tension in his body; his hands, previously rigid, move timidly upward, long fingers tracing the texture of his date’s jacket before tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, seeking something tangible to cling to, a distraction from the cloud of panic that had been gathering in his mind since they arrived.

His date lets out a low growl that vibrates directly against Michael’s mouth, sending a shiver through him; it isn’t an entirely human sound—it reminds him of David Kessler’s growls in An American Werewolf in London, stirring a fresh wave of unease. Before he can pull away, one of the man’s firm hands shifts to his dark curls and squeezes with immense force, the grip feeling heavy against his head.

Michael stifles a gasp of pain and surprise. The kiss turns ravenous, teetering on the edge between desire and subtle aggression; the taste of danger floods his senses, mingling with the stifling heat that seems to radiate directly from the other man’s chest.

The separation is languid. A thin thread of saliva connects them before snapping. Michael is breathless, his chest heaving; his wide, startled eyes, shining with the intensity of the moment, search for his date’s face in the darkness. His lips are swollen and his head is spinning.

“Y-you…” Michael rasps, his fingers still loosely tangled in the other’s neck. “You kiss really roughly… it hurt a bit.”

The man licks his lips with feline slowness, savoring the trace Michael had left on them. His pupils appear strangely dilated in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he murmurs, though his tone lacks any real remorse. His hand slides down from Michael’s curls to his neck, where the carotid pulse is hammering frantically against the skin. A shiver runs down Michael’s spine; his date’s fingers aren’t just warm, they burn with an almost feverish heat. “You’re racing so fast, Michael… I’m starting to think you’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” Michael says abruptly, though his voice cracks. He starts to pull his hands away from the man’s neck. “It’s just… you’re acting really strange. You have a fever.”

His date’s smile widens, an expression that was once seductive now twisting into something predatory.

“A fever?” he repeats, the word sounding like a taunt. “It’s not a fever, angel. It’s hunger.”

Michael’s eyes widen in horror, and a scream tears through the air.

The man stuffs a handful of buttery popcorn into his mouth and chews. What a bore; there are suspense movies scarier than this. He glances at Michael, the boy is utterly engrossed, eating his own snack with enthusiasm. He knows Michael loves horror movies, but this one doesn’t have a shred of it.

“Are you actually enjoying this?” he whispers into his ear. “Cujo is in the other room, we should’ve picked that one, it’s a re-release.”

Michael stops chewing for a moment and looks at him with a hint of annoyance. “Stop being such a killjoy. You just don’t have an eye for horror like I do.”

He stifles a laugh, stretching his long legs out into the narrow space between the seats. “Oh, please, Michael, that monster looks so fake; it looks like plastic. Besides, nobody runs out of gas so conveniently.”

“Stop complaining,” Michael scolds in an indignant whisper. He settles more comfortably into his seat and leans closer to his date’s shoulder. “Anyway, admit it, you got scared during the forest scene.”

“The only thing that scared me was the price of the popcorn,” he replies mischievously. “But if you like suspense so much… I can give you a better demonstration once we leave.”

Michael arches a slender eyebrow, his hand pausing halfway into the bucket. “Oh, really? You’re going to scare me in the parking lot?”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, moving close enough for his breath to brush against the other’s cheek. “I could bite your neck like the guy in the screen, only your ending would be a little different…”

A pink flush tints Michael’s cheeks, he shifts slightly away and gives the other man a playful shove on the shoulder.

“You’re terrible,” he whispers with a soft chuckle, turning his gaze back to the screen just as the music swells. He slides his free hand along the armrest until his long fingers find his date’s, shyly interlacing them. “Hush now, the best part is coming up.”

The man smirks, tightening his grip on their joined hands. Once again, the theater fills with piercing screams.