Chapter 8: A Kiss from Death

“We’re closed.”

Alastair blinks in shock at the sound of Lea’s ever harsh tone reaching him through the cafe’s door. He hadn’t even gotten up the courage to knock yet. How long had she been watching him raise and lower his fist?

Alastair wrinkles his brow and pulls up the sleeve of his jacket to glance at his watch.

“It’s only one thirty in the afternoon,” he comments, confused.

Lea sighs so loud that it’s nearly a groan before he sees her warped figure appear in the door’s window. The bell near the top of the door jingles once as she kicks the bottom corner and then again as it squeaks open.

She fills the door with her presence rather than allowing him to pass. She's short, even for the average human, with a half shaved head and enough tattoos to wonder if she’d got much room left for any further.

Her size provides no comfort against her sharp stare. However, the tote bag she carries with various colors of yarn and needles poking out does soften the edges, if only a little. Alastair internally cringes at the reminder of his ill timed comment on her knitting abilities.

“I have…an appointment,” she asserts, vaguely. “And we had a few call-ins. Despite his stubbornness, I’ve insisted Olier can’t run the place on his own so…we’re closed.” Lea then effectively invades his space until he steps out of the way and she can lock the door behind her.

“Other people work here?” is all Alastair can think to say.

This is obviously not the right thing to say because her face turns red before she speaks.

“Yes, other people work here! We’re open most days aren’t we? You think just me and Oliver can handle a whole cafe on our own? Rich people don’t understand anything!” she storms, sending her last bit of rage into the expanse of the garden around them, as if every rich person in the city might hear her and be rightfully insulted.

“Lea?”

Both of them jerk their heads upward to find Oliver in the process of leaning out one of the upstairs windows. He looks at her first in confusion over the commotion, then rifles through a rolodex of emotions that even someone as old as Alastair could not hope to decipher once he recognized who is standing in his cafe.

“Oh!” Oliver exclaims, then smiles that world ending smile. “Hello,” he greets Alastair, looking a bit dazed. This time Lea does groan.

“I’ll be back late,” she yells up to her brother with no small amount of irritation. “Just-” She looks over Alastair with suspicious eyes then back up at her brother with renewed sincerity.

“Be careful,” she insists, then turns and strides away before Alastair can process the insult she’d left him with.

“Nevermind her,” Oliver waves off with a conspiratory grin. “I’ll come unlock the door.”

“No!” Alastair hears himself say in the face of momentarily losing sight of Oliver as he moves to come downstairs.

That seems silly, to be frightened to lose sight of someone even just to let them descend a flight of stairs. Oliver’s smile grows bewildered as he appears at the window again. Alastair clears his throat.

“I’ll…I’ll just,” he stammers then shapeshifts into a bat just to soar up to and through the open window.

Oliver chuckles as he moves to let him past and closes the window behind him. Alastair misjudges how close he is when he turns back and nearly knocks Oliver over as he unfolds back into a full sized human man. He manages to get an arm around his back to keep him upright, but finds he’s pulled them flush together in his exuberance.

“Ah, I’m-” Alastair begins, loosening his grip in preparation to retreat.

Something like panic flashes across Oliver’s beautiful face. He’s wearing red today and there's a bit of glitter around his eyes. It’s striking. It suits him.

Alastair is allowed these few thoughts in the time it takes Oliver’s face to settle into desperation. Alastair has just enough time to crease his brow in confusion before Oliver snakes his hands to grip onto the expensive fabric covering Alastair’s chest.

“Oh, f*ck it,” Oliver whines.

ThenAlastair is hauled forward with a surprising amount of force. Three seconds ago, he felt embarrassed for invading Oliver’s space and now, Oliver’s lips are on his own and the only thought his simple brain can provide is that he is not, in fact, invading Oliver’s space enough.

He leans into his warmth with an instinctual enthusiasm he did not know he possessed. One hand grips onto the waist of Oliver’s torn jeans and the other rakes into that beautiful, curly mess of brown hair.

Alastair finds himself pushing, starving for a kind of affection he has long lacked in his life. The curve of Oliver’s back increases as he leans into him. Alastair spreads his hand wide against the curve of Oliver’s spine and parts his lips in a further attempt to devour the other.

Oliver, for his part, accepts this all with a trembling eagerness. Secured by Alastair’s hand on his back, he releases Alastair’s jacket in favor of letting his hands roam. They have the buttons on Alastair’s jacket undone in seconds and hungrily explore the crisp lines of his tailored button up.

Alastair can feel Oliver’s fingers bump over a long row of buttons as he drags a hand down his chest. Oliver tips his head back to chuckle in pleasure and then groan in frustration. Alastair resists the urge to kiss each freckle newly visible to him on Oliver’s neck for fear that he may be going too fast. He thinks he manages a confused hum above to roar in his ears.

“You have so many buttons,” Oliver complains.

Ah, Alastair thinks, an easy fix. Alastair rocks them both back into a more stable position then releases his hold only to shrug off his jacket, fit a palm between gold flaked buttons and sweep downwards with enough force to pop every button on the way down.

“Hot.”

Alastair watches the word escape from Oliver like it was torn from his lungs. Oliver barks a laugh at himself and covers his mouth. That won’t do.

Alastair pushes closer again and moves to remove Oliver’s positivity criminal hand from blocking Alastair’s way to his lips. He presses Oliver’s head forward to fervently place his lips back where they belong, on top of his own. For a moment, there is only Oliver’s lips pressed against his own and Alastair finds it within himself to slow down and savor the taste.

Even the tiny specs of dust they kicked up in their frenzy seem to hover in reverent stillness now, hanging in the light of the afternoon sun like not even the air dare disrupt their moment. It’s not until Oliver tips his head down in a rush and gasps that Alastair recalls that humans need air and don’t just use it like a prop in a play like he has all his life.

“I-,” Alastair whispers, guiltily, but finds himself cut off by fingers thrust over his lips.

“Don’t you dare apologize.”

Oliver looks slightly hysterical when he turns his head back up to hiss at him. Alastair blinks in horny confusion, more than half his brain already too devoted to other activities to fathom what has caused Oliver so much distress.

He manages to shake his head as if he might rattle a rational thought free. All he comes up with is the brilliant idea to catch hold of the hand against his lips and lift it so he might press his mouth to the soft skin of Oliver’s palm. This is, apparently, not the right thing to do.

Oliver makes a sound Alastair was previously unaware human’s could make. It lands somewhere between pleasure and distress with a bit of anxiety thrown in. It’s then that Alastair notices the tearful mist in Oliver’s eyes. Alastair forces himself to focus all at once.

“What’s wrong?” he asserts immediately, pushing his sunglasses off his face. Oliver lets out a pitiful whine and shakes his hands free to rub at his own eyes.

“Ugh, it’s nothing!” Oliver insists. Alastair hardly raises a brow at the lie before Oliver is convinced to keep trying. “It’s you!” Oliver grabs both Alastair’s wrists and pulls him close before he can step away in confusion. “It’s everything!” Oliver exclaims.

He's laughing now, which Alastair takes as a good sign. He relaxes into Oliver’s grip, guiding their hands to lace together.

“You just kissed me like your life depends on it and you’re very attractive and it is very overwhelming,” Oliver notes, helpless and breathless with some innumerable amount of emotions.

Alastair leads him to the weathered arm chair Oliver had sat in last time he’d visited and sits Oliver down in it now. He feels obsessive in his need to keep touching the other through all these movements and takes comfort only in seeing his desire reflected back at him in Oliver’s eyes. They flow together like a single body of water as Oliver moves to sit. Alastair lets Oliver’s hands slide around his waist as his own hold Oliver’s face in his hands.

“What can I do?” Alastair frowns, wiping at any remaining wetness around Oliver’s eyes. Oliver huffs and smiles up at him.

“Kiss me again.”