All the usual disclaimer's apply: don't read this if it is illegal for you to do so, don't steal or copy anything here without my permission. This story is inspired by the brilliant series American Horror Story: Coven. If you enjoy it or wish to read more, send me an email at nbradFshaw@yahoo.com. Like this website? Find a way to give back to it! Whether it be money, your own writing talents, or sharing it with a friend, give back to Nifty!
"So where do you work?" I only half heard Noland as he spoke, sitting across from me. Four days past since we first met, and I could see it had taken its toll on him. He was antsy, nervous, and eager to please me; he kept rocking back in his seat and asking me question of after endless question. I looked up from my drink, half interested.
"I kill people," I told him simply, flipping the knife on the glass table in the air and catching it in my hand. I pointed the blade at him. "It pays well." He looked mortified, but then his eyes softened and he laughed softly, more at himself than me.
"Yeah I'm sure people pay tons for someone's head," Noland joked. I watched him reach up and push his hair back. I couldn't help but smile; he was sexy, but still had this innocence about him that showed in everything he did.
"What?" he sounded concerned, and I realized I had stared a little longer than usual.
"You're still wearing my necklace," I pointed out.
"Oh. Umm, did you want it back?" he half smiled as he fumbled with the clasp, trying to look as if it didn't bother him. We were sitting outside at a restaurant on the Venice Beach Boardwalk; his choice, bolder than I would have expected, but it was a beautiful Friday and I loved the ocean air.
"Keep it," I told him, waiving my hand nonchalantly. "It looks better on you then it ever did on me." Which of course, wasn't true. He was wearing a black tank top and a pair of cargo shorts and flip flops. That necklace was nowhere near something he would wear. The only reason I'd given it to him was so that I could track him when I needed, and make sure no other witches were onto his trail.
"Thanks," he smiled.
"Let's get out of here," I told him, getting up. I pulled out my wallet and tossed a fifty on the table. "I want to take you somehwere."
"But we just ordered," he said, flustered.
"Trust me. I'll take you somewhere you'll wish you'd always been," I smiled at him confidently, because I knew he would cave. He did. He got up and followed me, walked alongside me. And then he changed; he was less bold and more self conscious. I could tell that he was aware that we were surrounded by people, people who would see him with me, and so he was kind of walking next to me but making it a point not to touch me. Of course all the stares he thought he was getting weren't in his head; people did stare, but because they saw two hot guys walking along the boardwalk, not because the imaginary gay sign he felt bolted to his shoulders was real.
"You're not out," I said as a fact, because it was. Not an accusation; everyone, including me was in the closet at once. Hiding out in the open, afraid of all the stares and ridicule. Hell, I was bi before there was even a such thing, before all these support groups and activist, so I could never judge someone for that.
His face went through a metamorphosis of expressions before he settled on something like guilt. He stared at his feet as he walked. "No."
I reached out and rested my hand on his shoulder. "Don't do that to yourself. Don't get down on yourself for not coming out. Everyone has to deal with their sexuality on their own terms. I didn't come out until I was 20." That was the truth, but not entirely. I came out when I was 20, but I was also the Supreme and had been for two years, so I had the backing of my Coven, and all the power to kill anyone who tried to get down on me. That still didn't make it easier to admit to myself that I was different.
"But you seem so...."
"Confident? That's because I'm an asshole, and incredibly arrogant," I smiled at him, and he smiled back, more relaxed now that he knew he wasn't dating the Rainbow Poster boy. Then he did something even I didn't expect- he reached out and took my hand into his. I liked the feel of his hand; it was smooth and he had long fingers, but his grip was strong, like he was trying to show me that he could be strong. I squeezed his hand and leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, and he giggled like a little kid in a toy store.
"So where are we going Jules?" Noland asked. I get what he was trying to do, but I hated that nickname.
"It's Julian. Don't ever call me Jules," it came out a bit more aggressive than I meant, but he got the point.
"Oh. Sorry, I didn't realize.." he trailed off, looking at the street performer breathing fire. I could do that, but playing with fire was never my thing.
"No it's fine," I sighed. "A friend of mine used to call me that. But I've never been a fan of nicknames." Rockelle used to call me that, when she wanted to piss me off. In fact, she still does. "And I'm taking you to see what I do for a living."
"Can I open my eyes?" Noland asked for the fifth time since I'd told him to close them.
"Not yet," I had left him standing in the middle of the stage. We were at an old performance hall. It was big and still in relatively good shape. I walked up behind him, pressing my dick into his ass. "Open them."
"Where is this?" He asked after a moment.
"This is a building in Malibu. I own it, and I plan to renovate it," I explained, whispering into his ear. "It's what I do- I take things that are broken, forgotten. Average. And I make something beautiful. This building has a beautiful view of the ocean, and the sunset. But It's blocked by all those walls behind us."
"This is a stage, Julian. Isn't it supposed to have walls?"
"When Michelangelo painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, they asked why he would put a painting on the ceiling. It hadn't been done before; besides, who ever bothered to look up? But once he did it, we never stopped," I kept my voice low and even, barely above a whisper; I was teasing him. "You've got to keep an open mind, Noland Pryce. Can't you see it?" I slid my hand down his arm and grabbed his hand.
"See what?" The heat coming off from his body was intense, and he started to slowly, gently, grind his hips against me.
"The future. It's beauty," I said, holding up his hand. "Look past the rows of broken theater chairs. Clear the room. Now fill it with low red tables surrounded by sleek black couches. Something intimate, but bold. There will be a bar in the back, with huge mirrors behind it so the performers can see themselves. A room filled with people, people who adore love and magic, and the inevitable third act; music. Only the most talented, the most....passionate will grace this stage, stand right where we stand. Can you see it?"
"I-I-," a slow, gentle moan broke his speech when I kissed his neck. His skin tasted a little like sweat, but mostly like sunlight. If sunlight had a taste that could be defined.
"Why don't we redesign the stage," I moved on. "We'll make it something to be remembered. Lights and a beautiful red satin curtain. Replace the wood with marble, and knock"- I thrust into him- "Out those walls behind us. Windows, nothing but windows. Maybe a curtain to block out the sunlight when it interferes with performances. I think the windows should say 'fame'. Don't you?"
"Yea..." his words were distracted and pleading; he leaned his head back into me, pressed his whole body closer to mine. I let my finger draw lazily along his arm, while my other hand began to stroke his chest. His heart was pounding; would he ask for what he wanted?
"Fame...it's an addiction for which there is no satisfaction. People who crave fame....they don't know what they're getting themselves into. They can't see it at first, but they became addicted the moment they saw a stage, a spotlight, a microphone, and thought that one day it would be there's. It grabs-" I whipped my hand down and grabbed him, hard; felt him pulse wildly through his shorts- "a hold of you, and God it won't let go. That's the price of addiction, Noland; freedom. But who needs freedom when you have the thing you want the most?" I was grinding my hardness into him now; slow, steady, methodical. pushing in deep then pulling away. I licked from the base of his neck to his ear and he shuddered; I mean really shuddered. It rocked his whole body. I could see his knees buckle, and the little bit of hair on his arms was standing straight up.
"Is that what you want, Noland?" I started playing with the zipper on his pants, inching it down, sliding it back up. Sliding my finger in, scratching him- hearing him moan louder and louder, the way he bit his lips, rocked onto the balls of his feet... "To be free?"
"Give it to me..." his voice was a cross between a moan and a whine. I could feel how wet my briefs were, but his shorts..they were drenched with his fluids. I could smell him, so strong and demanding... I pulled away from him.
"I'm your addiction, Noland. If you want to be free, the door is over there." He turned around, and then his tongue was down my throat.
"A shot of tequila," i said to the bartender who had his back turned to me. It was late, but this club was in full swing; plenty of people, Rihanna blaring on the speakers. But I hadn't come for the party. This club in east L.A. was owned by an old friend of mine.
"Sure. That'll be-" he stopped, mid pour. "Julian." I looked up at him. He was cute, in a rugged sort of way. He had dark hair; it was short and neat, and a beard. He wasn't all that tall, probably 5'8, but he was built like a brick house.
"That's my name," I said. "Now where's my shot?"
"I'm not supposed to serve you," he told me, pointing to a list I had overlooked. It wasn't really much of a list; there were only two names on it. Mine and Rockelle's.
"Matthew Delaney Lakewood," I said cheerily. "Don't try and speak; you can't. Give me a shot of tequila please." He looked like he wanted to try and fight, mostly out of shock that I could control him quite so easily. He poured the drink into my glass. "Thank you."
"Of course," he said quietly. Having your mind controlled for the first time was a nasty experience.
"Tell Madame Mamora I'm waiting," he nodded his head and slid behind a door. I took a sip of my drink, and let the liquor wash over me.
Madame Mamora is a witch, but not of my Coven. She is a powerful fortuneteller and medium, the best on the west coast. Powers like her's are rare, like Rockelle's ability to teleport. They're mutations in the witch biology, though Madame Mamora's is more common. Madame Mamora is as old as I am, though she lacks my good looks and youth.
Matthew reappeared almost as fast as he left. "She wants to see you," he said. Unfortunately, I didn't possess the same talent as Rockelle, and had to rely on my own two feet. My talents lie elsewhere. He lifted up a part of the counter and I walked through.
"I'll tell you what, Matty. You are too hot to die as somebodies mouth piece," I reached around and grabbed his ass. It was nice and firm; he did a lot of squats. He gasped, but then grinned quickly before pushing away. "I'll see you later." With that, I walked into her place.
Madame Mamora was, to say the least, theatrical. Even though she relied on tarot cards, she had every manner of superstitious magical item- real or fake- a person could find, from curtains made of bones and crystal balls to spell books and bizarre plants. She herself was dressed in an elegant black evening gown. It was long and sweeping, though she took care to show off her red heels. She looked good for her age, as good as a 61 year old Puerto Rican woman can look.
"Julian. You haven't changed," she said in her thick accent.
"Being a Supreme does that to you," I said, sitting down opposite her. The room was lit with candles, but there was one on the table in front of us. "A fire that never goes out."
"Because you would throw anything in the flames to keep it going," she retorted in that superior way of hers. There was no point in lying to her; she was the only person better than me at reading minds. Controlling them wasn't her thing. "And the lack of change I referred to was in your personality, not your looks. Though they hint at vanity, you really fear aging. Loss of power. You'd have no problem loosing the position of a Supreme if it happened all at once- if no one ever had to see you weak. But that is not our way. You are still young and reckless, just as you pretend to be."
"I know about me," her words had made me as cold as ice, they always did. "Why don't you tell me about-"
"If you know so much, Julian, then why do you still come here?" Mamora asked me. "In the 60 years that I've known you, you've always done exactly as you pleased. If there were ever a witch made to be Supreme, it wasn't you. The job of a Supreme is to lead a Coven; but the ultimate sign of a Supreme is not glowing, radiant health. It is the ability to sacrifice for the future of your Coven that you love so dearly."
"I do sacrifice for my Coven," I said angrily. Talking with her always went this way; it's why I stayed away for four years. No one wants to hear the truth, yet we are drawn to search for it.
"And there is a special place in hell for the type of sacrifice you do," she said just as quickly, though she lacked the anger I had.
"There is nothing I wouldn't do for my Coven," I said proudly. "Even if that means I go to hell."
"Except die for your Coven," she pointed out. "You would give anything but your own life. But you already know that; you came here to learn the things you don't know."
"Then tell me something I don't know," I was growing tired of this song and dance I had to do.
"That boy out there is free game," she gestured towards the door. "Enjoy."
"I will. But that's not what I want," I told her.
"You want to find an easier way to find your replacement, and kill them. You've already found them, you just need to evoke their powers. It's simple, and you won't have to use kill. One could only hope you'd try honesty, but we both know you're not an honest man."
I smiled slyly. "You know what they say about hope. It breeds eternal misery."
"The cards are calling you," Madame Mamora said absently. She layed the beautifully haunting cards out on the table in front of him. "Give me your hand." I did. She moved her other hand over the cards, slowly. Almost immediately, one shot up. I watched as she held it, smiled, and allowed it to float into the air.
"The card of love. One that has eluded you." Another card, this one a red skull with black cross bones rose to join the card of love. A third and final card joined the three. "The card of death, a personal favorite of yours. And the card of destiny. Julian, your life is changing, your power is dwindling. Years ago you cast aside your heart for power, and as fate would have it, you will pay the price. The man who has no heart will fall in love, and it will define you. It will end you. Death haunts your eyes, like a broken heart. There is no turning back, so I will tell you how to force your replacement out of hiding. That, however, doesn't mean you will be able to kill them."
Thanks for reading! This chapter is a bit longer, and doesn't have any actual sex. I wanted to try seduction and sensuality. Don't fret, next chapter there will be lots of sex.