(no subject)
prompt from damnaris: cesc/iker as demon hunters. or cesc as a demon. or iker as a demon.
pairing: iker/cesc
rating: nc-17
word count: 3600 words.
Iker is standing by a streetlight, but not underneath it. His breath is visible. He flips a coin in his pocket, waiting. Lights gradually go out in the houses surrounding him, one by one, and the last one leaves him in mostly darkness. Far away, a dog barks.
"Hey. What are you doing out here?" someone sneers from behind him. It's soft and the words sound awkward, the accents on the wrong syllables. It smells like the sewer's open.
"I'm waiting for someone," Iker says.
There's a pause. Then rapid movement behind him, the leathery sound of wings-Iker stands still and hears a thundering crack-he turns around and the demon's still grabbing at him but it's spinning like a top, then it crumples to the ground. A bullet is burning a dripping hole in its side, holy water spreading out from the casing. Iker can see a yellow lung under the mess, expanding and contracting.
He reaches in his pocket and drops to a knee, presses the coin on its forehead with his thumb. It screams and snaps at him before its mouth starts melding shut. He shakes his hand to get the slime off, vaguely disgusted.
"...C'mon." Iker has no patience. Cesc is awkwardly jogging towards him. He's wearing three layers of clothing, slinging his rifle on his back.
"It's fucking cold," Cesc says.
"Yeah."
Cesc holds his glove in his mouth and flips open a switchblade from his pocket. He knits his brow as he draws the edge across his palm, then squeezes his hand in a fist and drips blood in a circle on the pavement. Iker chases it with two of his fingers, smearing it into a solid line.
"You're not gonna be able to do this forever, you know" Cesc says, teeth chattering. He's digging a bandage out of his bag.
Iker uses the excess to start the symbols inside, but runs out of blood. He holds his hand out expectantly. Cesc huffs and reopens the wound he was just starting to bind.
"Seriously. Someone's gonna devirginize me and you're gonna be fucked."
"No-one's going to devirginize you," Iker says, distracted. He finishes the runes and flips through his book with his ring finger, careful not to get blood on the pages.
"Iam tibi impero et præcipio, maligne spiritus-"
The demon roars from behind its mouth and hisses out its nose. It blows something that sizzles the leaves on the ground and looks like blackened pus. Iker automatically puts his arm out in front of Cesc, like a driver coming to a sudden stop.
"Get back," he says, pulling the leg of his jeans until Cesc is behind him.
"Ut discedas, absque omni strepito, terrore, clamore et foetore-"
Ten minutes later, Iker stands up and the demon is writhing on the ground, burning away into ash and a spine and some kind of slime. Cesc peers down at the steaming mess left on the pavement. He wrinkles his nose.
"There's all this gunk left over." He looks up at the surrounding neighborhood, the swing sets and the picket fences. "Do you think we should-put leaves on it or something?"
Iker lights a cigarette. Cesc notices.
"Stop that. Stop it."
Iker leans back and Cesc's swipe at his mouth misses.
"You're a walking cliche," Cesc tells him.
Iker takes a long drag, his fingers still bloody.
"Jesus christ."
Black Mariah's is seedy as fuck and full of lots of people Iker doesn't want to know, but drinks are three dollars on Wednesdays, and they always show the games Iker wants to see.
"I can't believe they paid us that much for a lower demon." Cesc says. He's smug, barely understandable around a mouth full of burger.
Iker's only half-listening, watching the game. "They didn't know what it was."
Cesc swallows with some difficulty, then stuffs another mozzarella stick in his mouth. It's been a week of nothing but cereal, so Iker doesn't say anything. "It's enough to get us through the week, right?"
"We've got a big job coming up. We're going to Sergio's tomorrow."
Cesc grins. "Sweet."
Iker gets to half-time and three cigarettes before a guy slides up next to Cesc. He must be new.
"Hey. Can I buy you a drink?"
"You could buy one but he won't make it for me," Cesc says smoothly. Villa gives him a look over the taps that equates to damn straight and you're lucky to be sitting at the bar.
"Then maybe I could take you somewhere."
"Maybe."
The guy gropes Cesc's thigh and is almost at his zipper when Iker takes his eyes from the TV. Looks at him. He can tell he's Dutch by his accent, a dickweed by everything else.
"Fuck off."
The guy stares at him.
Iker raises an eyebrow the slightest bit. He waves with two of his fingers. "Fuck. Off."
The guy seems to size him up for a moment-then he walks away.
"Fuck you." Cesc slumps on the bar. He stabs at the lemon in his iced tea with his straw. "Did you see his ass."
"I'll give you a handjob when we get back," Iker says, noncommittal. He gestures at Villa for another drink.
"You won't."
Iker grunts in agreement.
Iker is wearing his leather jacket and Cesc is wearing the same shirt he's been wearing for two days. They walk to save gas and a bell rings when they come in off the alley.
It's cool and dark inside. It smells like pot, which is normal. Iker starts looking through 8-tracks of voodoo rituals and Cesc wanders to the back, navigating through shelves of tomes, collections of dried beetles, the cardboard cut-out of Ash Williams.
Sergio is leaning back in his chair, feet on the counter. He's reading a comic book, listening to a beat-up yellow Walkman. Cesc nudges his boot with the back of his hand.
"Hey. I almost got laid last night."
Sergio grins when he sees him, tugs his headphones off. Music blares from them. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. He was gonna blow me in the bathroom. And he was from Germany."
"I thought I always heard that Iker was gonna be the one to do it."
Iker lights a cigarette.
"Yeah, well, he hasn't." Cesc watches Iker scanning the bookshelf. "Seriously, what are you waiting for. My birthday?"
Iker walks over, sets two tapes and a Bible down on the counter.
"I need these, four smudge sticks, one yarrow, three sage. Two candles-black, pig fat. Jordan water, salt. And a pack of Fortunas."
Cesc leans further on the counter over pipes and a dried head, trying to catch Iker's eye. His elbows smudge the glass. "Are you waiting for my birthday? Because it's today."
Sergio swings his feet off the counter. "Big job?"
"Big enough." Iker ashes in a tray that probably hasn't been emptied since the 80's.
"I hadn't heard anything."
"New guy."
"Yeah? Let me know how it goes." Sergio has connections and makes connections. "Hey Cesc, check this out." He tosses him a small shotgun before he disappears in the back and Cesc catches it, immediately breaks it open. He peers inside and drops the shells in his hands, rolls them around in his palm.
"What are these?" he asks when Sergio returns with a box.
"20 gauge. Silver buckshot, packed in anointing oil." Cesc coos. Sergio slides the box on the counter. "Slower then the water, but way more powerful."
Cesc turns the gun over in his hands. "This gun is sweet too. What is this?"
"Ivory," Iker says, watching Cesc finger the inlay.
"Borrow it for your job." Sergio pushes his hair back. "I packed some slugs in the box."
"Seriously? Thanks, dude."
"Yeah. Bring it back."
"Last time wasn't even-last time was a fluke."
Iker finishes going through the box, then hands him cash and a few joints.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
They're sitting in the Chevy, doing reconnaissance. Iker is doing reconnaissance. Cesc is stuffing his face with a gyro. He drips tzitziki sauce on the upholstery and pretends he didn't notice-Iker glares and Cesc half-heartedly rubs at it with his thumb.
It's starting to get hot in the cab, just hot enough to have to roll down a window, when sound crackles in Iker's headphones. Cesc sits up, leans over. Presses his ear against Iker's.
"It's Latin," Iker says after a moment.
"Doesn't sound like Latin."
Iker listen a little longer to confirm. "It's backwards."
"You're kidding. That's creepy."
Iker starts scanning the building for a way in.
"But seriously, is that even practical?"
"It's not common."
"We could get in there," Cesc says, leaning forward and pointing at a window above the dumpster. He accidentally bumps the skeleton hula girl on the dash. She bobbles.
"You could get in there," Iker corrects.
"Yeah, and then I could open that door for you."
Cesc takes another bite, waiting for Iker to finish mulling it over. He folds up the rest of his gyro in the foil.
"You'll need to be quiet."
"Hmm. Duh," Cesc says, loading up his shotgun across his lap.
The building is old and falling apart. According to the peeling paint on the brick, it used to be a paper factory. The door is blue and the lock sounds rusty as it turns.
Cesc has a bruise on his cheek from hitting the window frame, but he looks otherwise unharmed. He lets Iker in.
The room is too dark to see anything. It smells sweet, cloying. As soon as Iker crosses inside, something doesn't feel right.
"It feels gross in here," Cesc mumbles to him, closing the door. "More than normal. Doesn't it? It feels-"
It happens fast.
There are soft loping sounds, thumping on the floor. Iker looks forward and Cesc looks back and something leaps and Cesc is flying sideways, makes a strained gasping sound-something chomps down on his ribcage. There's a horrible moment where nothing happens, when Iker can barely make them out but Cesc isn't moving and the thing is glaring at Iker with black eyes and Iker thinks Cesc is-then Cesc groans and it starts dragging him backwards into the shadows, quicker than anything should be able to drag.
Even now, Cesc has the mind not to scream. He's dropped his gun and he's scrabbling at the floorboards with his bare hands and the look on his face-
Iker's never seen anything like this thing. It's twice as big as a normal dog and three times as fast, brindle colored. It smells like sulfur. Iker barrels down after it before he even thinks, reaches back for his knife in his belt and tackles at it and grabs its head, its face, pulls its head up and saws at the veins and tendons under its neck until it lets Cesc go. It growls with what's left of its windpipe and he rolls it and pins it under his knee and stabs its head, over and over until it stops moving.
The building wakes up around them and Iker wipes his brow, tries to catch his breath. He feels the smooth slick of blood all the way up his forearm, past his elbow. It prickles on his skin.
They're holed up in a storage closet. There's a rush of activity outside, weird sounds, cabinets and bureaus being knocked over, torn apart.
Iker is sitting against the wall, boots set firm and apart on the floor. He has Cesc cradled against his chest. He managed to get them in there and close the door, scribble a quick set of runes along the threshold with a piece of chalk; the demons won't be able to see the closet now, unless they remember to look. Cesc passed out halfway to the door-from shock or something worse, Iker doesn't know. He's lost a lot of blood. His skin is cold and clammy.
Iker passes the time by trying to count how many there are outside. He goes by sound. There are several sounds he doesn't recognize.
After an hour or so, Cesc stirs. He winces and barely has his eyes open-"My gun," he croaks immediately.
Iker presses it against his hand and Cesc relaxes, fingers weakly curling around the stock.
"This was a trap, wasn't it?" he asks after a moment. His breathing is labored. Iker can feel him fumbling in the pocket of his jeans, trying to count how many slugs Iker used.
"There's way too many of them. There was only supposed to be one."
Cesc's hand goes still in his pocket. "How did you-" He squints until he can focus in the dark, and his eyes widen when he sees the dried gore caked on Iker's neck, his face. "You killed it with the knife?" he asks.
He goes to touch the blood in Iker's hair but winces when he moves, automatically goes to feel the bite-Iker catches his hand. Cesc knows better than to look down at it.
"It's poisoned?"
Iker rubs warmth back into his fingers. The last half of his last cigarette is dangling from his lips, and Cesc reaches up to take it. Iker lets him. He expects Cesc to crumple it up or stub it out, but instead, he takes a drag.
Iker watches him in the dark, blows smoke away from his face in a smooth stream. Cesc smiles a little. Copies him. He coughs and presses his head in Iker's chest. Iker thinks it's to hide how much that hurt, but Cesc doesn't move away.
"How are we gonna get out of here?" Cesc asks quietly.
"I don't know."
They end up getting out by Iker launching smoke bombs and Cesc unloading everything he has into the center of them until they can make it to the blue door. It's messy and dramatic, and not at all how Iker likes to do things. They somehow manage to get out of the building and the truck is still on the corner-thank god-Iker gets Cesc into the passenger side then peels out, shoving the gear shift and checking his rearview every couple seconds. They're pursued on foot for ten blocks before the figures start falling behind.
Cesc is curled up in his seat, still clutching his gun. He's wheezing in a way that sounds dangerous, and his side is matted with blood. It smells rancid. Iker reaches over to push his bangs out of his face.
It's touch-and-go for a while.
Iker cleans the wound. Stitches it up, smears cedar salve over the gash, clamps his hand over Cesc's mouth through the whole thing-glad, not for the first time, that he soundproofed the apartment. He doesn't leave the house. He works at breaking Cesc's fever with cool cloths and water, draws the venom out of the bite with hot compresses soaked in oil and eucalyptus. He eats the oranges in the bowl on the table, whatever he can find in the back of the cabinets, the rest of the burger from the bar (Cesc had boxed up half for him).
He surfs the internet, sleeps, keeps an eye on the wound. Changes bandages. Every three days he strips Cesc's clothes off and lowers him into a bath with sage and sweet grass. He rubs him with soap and covers his eyes when he rinses his hair. Once Cesc is clean enough, he leans down-Cesc wraps his wet arms around his shoulders, and Iker lifts him out.
It takes two weeks for the bite to mend up enough to scab. Three for Cesc to be able to get around on his own. He gets into the Doritos before he should be eating them and throws up vitriolic orange in the toilet, but otherwise, he heals up better and faster than Iker thought he would. He can't sleep unless Iker is with him, but that's okay.
It's sunset and Cesc is bored, rifling through Iker's books. He's naked, which isn't different from any other time after he showers. He notices Iker looking at him, at the long jagged mark over his ribs. He walks over and places Iker's hand on it. His body is hot from the shower.
"Feel."
Iker has felt, but not since it knitted up.
"It's gonna be the coolest scar," Cesc tells the ceiling, grinning. "Chamakh's gonna be so jealous."
Iker trails the tips of his fingers down his side. Cesc's skin goosebumps under his touch.
Iker reaches his hip. Passes it.
"Don't start something you're not gonna finish," Cesc warns. He's quiet, watching.
Iker doesn't stop and Cesc straddles his lap, lets Iker touch his stomach, his nipples, his thighs. After a few minutes, he's pressing his hips forward, breathing quicker, turned on. He's concentrated on the hand tweaking his nipple and Iker sneaks the other around to spread him-rubs over him dry, but doesn't press in.
Cesc shivers, tightens under the pads of Iker's fingers. Iker's never touched him there before. And when Cesc starts understanding, sees Iker reaching for the lube, it feels like he's shaking a little under Iker's palm.
"It's not a big deal," Iker says. It isn't. He's fucked lots of people.
"It is," Cesc insists. He cuts himself off, biting down hard on his lip as Iker sinks a finger into him. Another.
Iker shifts, gets a feel for him. He angles his hand and bends his wrist. Curls his fingers. Cesc grabs on tighter to him, panting.
Iker moves a little higher. Does it again. Cesc babbles, but when Iker moves to the left and presses, holds, Cesc's hips jerk up, stomach going tight. His cock drools. Iker presses the heel of his hand against the spot behind his balls and rubs his fingers in tight circles inside of him and Cesc rises up like someone's pulling him on strings. He rocks on Iker's hand, riding it like a cock.
"Oh god. Oh fuck. Fuck," he stammers, looking down at his dick slapping on his stomach, at what he can see of Iker's wrist, the muscles working in his forearm.
He suddenly tilts up and forward, wanting to come, and Iker works his hand free and unbuttons his jeans, rolls on a condom and slicks his cock up. He arranges Cesc's thighs how he wants them and lines himself up. Suddenly, Cesc grabs his wrist. Iker checks his face. His eyes are big, his mouth open.
"You're going to keep me around after this, right?"
There's a certain vulnerability to it that Iker wasn't expecting.
"Probably."
Cesc licks his lips and nods. He steadies himself and pushes down on just the head of Iker's cock before he freezes up and falters-Iker frames his hips and pulls him down all the way and Cesc's spine goes stiff, his fingers tightening. His jaw is slack. Iker lets him stay there for a bit, seated in Iker's lap, before he nudges up. Cesc clamps around him, holding on tight to his jacket.
"You're supposed to move," Iker says.
"I know." Cesc grits his teeth, frustrated. "I will."
Iker leans in and Cesc thinks he's going to bite him or maybe he just doesn't want him to move-he hits his back with the flat of his palm fast again and again, but Iker just tilts his head, brushes his lips across Cesc's neck. Cesc actually shudders. Iker reaches down and takes a hold of his dick-Cesc moans and Iker lets go.
"Why?"
"Made you tighter. Defeats the purpose."
"Fuck," Cesc says. He settles on his knees with new determination, carefully starts moving himself. At first he tries up and down, like he'd seen in porn, probably, but it doesn't seem to do much for him. He seats himself and tries rolling instead. It's better. His expression changes when he finds the right spot, and he immediately repeats the movement. He starts getting into a rhythm, languidly circling his hips, and Iker forgets why they didn't do this sooner.
"Man," Cesc says, his head falling back. His voice is strained, but happy. "We'll have to go back to Sergio's. To give back the gun. And you'll have to buy. Virgin blood. And he's gonna-"
Iker remembers now. Cesc is fucking annoying. He vices his hips and drives up into him and Cesc groans, starts jerking himself off.
"Normal blood works alright," Iker reminds him, fucking him hard. He presses his thumb in Cesc's palm against the bandage that's always there, covering the scars.
For some reason, Cesc doesn't argue with this. He arches his back, twisting his hand in Iker's to clutch it-his body jerks a few times, quick erratic movement, then he comes.
Iker thrusts a few more times, slow and long, before he follows.
They're still holding hands. Iker peels his away and lifts Cesc off his dick.
"Fuck," Cesc says.
Iker gets up to throw the condom away.
"Fuck," Cesc repeats, looking down at his body like he doesn't even understand it. "I'm sore. Get my gyro?"
Iker takes off his jacket and tosses it on the counter. He opens the fridge, looking for a beer. "Your gyro's still in the truck."
"Get it?"
"It's been there for three weeks."
"That is gonna smell. The worst. I'm not cleaning it." He reaches for Iker's beer and Iker holds it out of reach.
"Underage."
"Come on," Cesc says, turning on the TV.
Iker sits down next to him and Cesc settles on his shoulder. He turns on Wheel of Fortune. Iker lets him have a sip of his beer.
"We have to go to Sergio's tomorrow," Cesc says. He's tired.
"This weekend."
"Thursday."
Iker doesn't answer, which means they'll go on Thursday. Cesc turns his face into Iker's arm and Iker can feel him smiling, then he bites him very gently, mouth open over Iker's shirt.
pairing: iker/cesc
rating: nc-17
word count: 3600 words.
Iker is standing by a streetlight, but not underneath it. His breath is visible. He flips a coin in his pocket, waiting. Lights gradually go out in the houses surrounding him, one by one, and the last one leaves him in mostly darkness. Far away, a dog barks.
"Hey. What are you doing out here?" someone sneers from behind him. It's soft and the words sound awkward, the accents on the wrong syllables. It smells like the sewer's open.
"I'm waiting for someone," Iker says.
There's a pause. Then rapid movement behind him, the leathery sound of wings-Iker stands still and hears a thundering crack-he turns around and the demon's still grabbing at him but it's spinning like a top, then it crumples to the ground. A bullet is burning a dripping hole in its side, holy water spreading out from the casing. Iker can see a yellow lung under the mess, expanding and contracting.
He reaches in his pocket and drops to a knee, presses the coin on its forehead with his thumb. It screams and snaps at him before its mouth starts melding shut. He shakes his hand to get the slime off, vaguely disgusted.
"...C'mon." Iker has no patience. Cesc is awkwardly jogging towards him. He's wearing three layers of clothing, slinging his rifle on his back.
"It's fucking cold," Cesc says.
"Yeah."
Cesc holds his glove in his mouth and flips open a switchblade from his pocket. He knits his brow as he draws the edge across his palm, then squeezes his hand in a fist and drips blood in a circle on the pavement. Iker chases it with two of his fingers, smearing it into a solid line.
"You're not gonna be able to do this forever, you know" Cesc says, teeth chattering. He's digging a bandage out of his bag.
Iker uses the excess to start the symbols inside, but runs out of blood. He holds his hand out expectantly. Cesc huffs and reopens the wound he was just starting to bind.
"Seriously. Someone's gonna devirginize me and you're gonna be fucked."
"No-one's going to devirginize you," Iker says, distracted. He finishes the runes and flips through his book with his ring finger, careful not to get blood on the pages.
"Iam tibi impero et præcipio, maligne spiritus-"
The demon roars from behind its mouth and hisses out its nose. It blows something that sizzles the leaves on the ground and looks like blackened pus. Iker automatically puts his arm out in front of Cesc, like a driver coming to a sudden stop.
"Get back," he says, pulling the leg of his jeans until Cesc is behind him.
"Ut discedas, absque omni strepito, terrore, clamore et foetore-"
Ten minutes later, Iker stands up and the demon is writhing on the ground, burning away into ash and a spine and some kind of slime. Cesc peers down at the steaming mess left on the pavement. He wrinkles his nose.
"There's all this gunk left over." He looks up at the surrounding neighborhood, the swing sets and the picket fences. "Do you think we should-put leaves on it or something?"
Iker lights a cigarette. Cesc notices.
"Stop that. Stop it."
Iker leans back and Cesc's swipe at his mouth misses.
"You're a walking cliche," Cesc tells him.
Iker takes a long drag, his fingers still bloody.
"Jesus christ."
Black Mariah's is seedy as fuck and full of lots of people Iker doesn't want to know, but drinks are three dollars on Wednesdays, and they always show the games Iker wants to see.
"I can't believe they paid us that much for a lower demon." Cesc says. He's smug, barely understandable around a mouth full of burger.
Iker's only half-listening, watching the game. "They didn't know what it was."
Cesc swallows with some difficulty, then stuffs another mozzarella stick in his mouth. It's been a week of nothing but cereal, so Iker doesn't say anything. "It's enough to get us through the week, right?"
"We've got a big job coming up. We're going to Sergio's tomorrow."
Cesc grins. "Sweet."
Iker gets to half-time and three cigarettes before a guy slides up next to Cesc. He must be new.
"Hey. Can I buy you a drink?"
"You could buy one but he won't make it for me," Cesc says smoothly. Villa gives him a look over the taps that equates to damn straight and you're lucky to be sitting at the bar.
"Then maybe I could take you somewhere."
"Maybe."
The guy gropes Cesc's thigh and is almost at his zipper when Iker takes his eyes from the TV. Looks at him. He can tell he's Dutch by his accent, a dickweed by everything else.
"Fuck off."
The guy stares at him.
Iker raises an eyebrow the slightest bit. He waves with two of his fingers. "Fuck. Off."
The guy seems to size him up for a moment-then he walks away.
"Fuck you." Cesc slumps on the bar. He stabs at the lemon in his iced tea with his straw. "Did you see his ass."
"I'll give you a handjob when we get back," Iker says, noncommittal. He gestures at Villa for another drink.
"You won't."
Iker grunts in agreement.
Iker is wearing his leather jacket and Cesc is wearing the same shirt he's been wearing for two days. They walk to save gas and a bell rings when they come in off the alley.
It's cool and dark inside. It smells like pot, which is normal. Iker starts looking through 8-tracks of voodoo rituals and Cesc wanders to the back, navigating through shelves of tomes, collections of dried beetles, the cardboard cut-out of Ash Williams.
Sergio is leaning back in his chair, feet on the counter. He's reading a comic book, listening to a beat-up yellow Walkman. Cesc nudges his boot with the back of his hand.
"Hey. I almost got laid last night."
Sergio grins when he sees him, tugs his headphones off. Music blares from them. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. He was gonna blow me in the bathroom. And he was from Germany."
"I thought I always heard that Iker was gonna be the one to do it."
Iker lights a cigarette.
"Yeah, well, he hasn't." Cesc watches Iker scanning the bookshelf. "Seriously, what are you waiting for. My birthday?"
Iker walks over, sets two tapes and a Bible down on the counter.
"I need these, four smudge sticks, one yarrow, three sage. Two candles-black, pig fat. Jordan water, salt. And a pack of Fortunas."
Cesc leans further on the counter over pipes and a dried head, trying to catch Iker's eye. His elbows smudge the glass. "Are you waiting for my birthday? Because it's today."
Sergio swings his feet off the counter. "Big job?"
"Big enough." Iker ashes in a tray that probably hasn't been emptied since the 80's.
"I hadn't heard anything."
"New guy."
"Yeah? Let me know how it goes." Sergio has connections and makes connections. "Hey Cesc, check this out." He tosses him a small shotgun before he disappears in the back and Cesc catches it, immediately breaks it open. He peers inside and drops the shells in his hands, rolls them around in his palm.
"What are these?" he asks when Sergio returns with a box.
"20 gauge. Silver buckshot, packed in anointing oil." Cesc coos. Sergio slides the box on the counter. "Slower then the water, but way more powerful."
Cesc turns the gun over in his hands. "This gun is sweet too. What is this?"
"Ivory," Iker says, watching Cesc finger the inlay.
"Borrow it for your job." Sergio pushes his hair back. "I packed some slugs in the box."
"Seriously? Thanks, dude."
"Yeah. Bring it back."
"Last time wasn't even-last time was a fluke."
Iker finishes going through the box, then hands him cash and a few joints.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
They're sitting in the Chevy, doing reconnaissance. Iker is doing reconnaissance. Cesc is stuffing his face with a gyro. He drips tzitziki sauce on the upholstery and pretends he didn't notice-Iker glares and Cesc half-heartedly rubs at it with his thumb.
It's starting to get hot in the cab, just hot enough to have to roll down a window, when sound crackles in Iker's headphones. Cesc sits up, leans over. Presses his ear against Iker's.
"It's Latin," Iker says after a moment.
"Doesn't sound like Latin."
Iker listen a little longer to confirm. "It's backwards."
"You're kidding. That's creepy."
Iker starts scanning the building for a way in.
"But seriously, is that even practical?"
"It's not common."
"We could get in there," Cesc says, leaning forward and pointing at a window above the dumpster. He accidentally bumps the skeleton hula girl on the dash. She bobbles.
"You could get in there," Iker corrects.
"Yeah, and then I could open that door for you."
Cesc takes another bite, waiting for Iker to finish mulling it over. He folds up the rest of his gyro in the foil.
"You'll need to be quiet."
"Hmm. Duh," Cesc says, loading up his shotgun across his lap.
The building is old and falling apart. According to the peeling paint on the brick, it used to be a paper factory. The door is blue and the lock sounds rusty as it turns.
Cesc has a bruise on his cheek from hitting the window frame, but he looks otherwise unharmed. He lets Iker in.
The room is too dark to see anything. It smells sweet, cloying. As soon as Iker crosses inside, something doesn't feel right.
"It feels gross in here," Cesc mumbles to him, closing the door. "More than normal. Doesn't it? It feels-"
It happens fast.
There are soft loping sounds, thumping on the floor. Iker looks forward and Cesc looks back and something leaps and Cesc is flying sideways, makes a strained gasping sound-something chomps down on his ribcage. There's a horrible moment where nothing happens, when Iker can barely make them out but Cesc isn't moving and the thing is glaring at Iker with black eyes and Iker thinks Cesc is-then Cesc groans and it starts dragging him backwards into the shadows, quicker than anything should be able to drag.
Even now, Cesc has the mind not to scream. He's dropped his gun and he's scrabbling at the floorboards with his bare hands and the look on his face-
Iker's never seen anything like this thing. It's twice as big as a normal dog and three times as fast, brindle colored. It smells like sulfur. Iker barrels down after it before he even thinks, reaches back for his knife in his belt and tackles at it and grabs its head, its face, pulls its head up and saws at the veins and tendons under its neck until it lets Cesc go. It growls with what's left of its windpipe and he rolls it and pins it under his knee and stabs its head, over and over until it stops moving.
The building wakes up around them and Iker wipes his brow, tries to catch his breath. He feels the smooth slick of blood all the way up his forearm, past his elbow. It prickles on his skin.
They're holed up in a storage closet. There's a rush of activity outside, weird sounds, cabinets and bureaus being knocked over, torn apart.
Iker is sitting against the wall, boots set firm and apart on the floor. He has Cesc cradled against his chest. He managed to get them in there and close the door, scribble a quick set of runes along the threshold with a piece of chalk; the demons won't be able to see the closet now, unless they remember to look. Cesc passed out halfway to the door-from shock or something worse, Iker doesn't know. He's lost a lot of blood. His skin is cold and clammy.
Iker passes the time by trying to count how many there are outside. He goes by sound. There are several sounds he doesn't recognize.
After an hour or so, Cesc stirs. He winces and barely has his eyes open-"My gun," he croaks immediately.
Iker presses it against his hand and Cesc relaxes, fingers weakly curling around the stock.
"This was a trap, wasn't it?" he asks after a moment. His breathing is labored. Iker can feel him fumbling in the pocket of his jeans, trying to count how many slugs Iker used.
"There's way too many of them. There was only supposed to be one."
Cesc's hand goes still in his pocket. "How did you-" He squints until he can focus in the dark, and his eyes widen when he sees the dried gore caked on Iker's neck, his face. "You killed it with the knife?" he asks.
He goes to touch the blood in Iker's hair but winces when he moves, automatically goes to feel the bite-Iker catches his hand. Cesc knows better than to look down at it.
"It's poisoned?"
Iker rubs warmth back into his fingers. The last half of his last cigarette is dangling from his lips, and Cesc reaches up to take it. Iker lets him. He expects Cesc to crumple it up or stub it out, but instead, he takes a drag.
Iker watches him in the dark, blows smoke away from his face in a smooth stream. Cesc smiles a little. Copies him. He coughs and presses his head in Iker's chest. Iker thinks it's to hide how much that hurt, but Cesc doesn't move away.
"How are we gonna get out of here?" Cesc asks quietly.
"I don't know."
They end up getting out by Iker launching smoke bombs and Cesc unloading everything he has into the center of them until they can make it to the blue door. It's messy and dramatic, and not at all how Iker likes to do things. They somehow manage to get out of the building and the truck is still on the corner-thank god-Iker gets Cesc into the passenger side then peels out, shoving the gear shift and checking his rearview every couple seconds. They're pursued on foot for ten blocks before the figures start falling behind.
Cesc is curled up in his seat, still clutching his gun. He's wheezing in a way that sounds dangerous, and his side is matted with blood. It smells rancid. Iker reaches over to push his bangs out of his face.
It's touch-and-go for a while.
Iker cleans the wound. Stitches it up, smears cedar salve over the gash, clamps his hand over Cesc's mouth through the whole thing-glad, not for the first time, that he soundproofed the apartment. He doesn't leave the house. He works at breaking Cesc's fever with cool cloths and water, draws the venom out of the bite with hot compresses soaked in oil and eucalyptus. He eats the oranges in the bowl on the table, whatever he can find in the back of the cabinets, the rest of the burger from the bar (Cesc had boxed up half for him).
He surfs the internet, sleeps, keeps an eye on the wound. Changes bandages. Every three days he strips Cesc's clothes off and lowers him into a bath with sage and sweet grass. He rubs him with soap and covers his eyes when he rinses his hair. Once Cesc is clean enough, he leans down-Cesc wraps his wet arms around his shoulders, and Iker lifts him out.
It takes two weeks for the bite to mend up enough to scab. Three for Cesc to be able to get around on his own. He gets into the Doritos before he should be eating them and throws up vitriolic orange in the toilet, but otherwise, he heals up better and faster than Iker thought he would. He can't sleep unless Iker is with him, but that's okay.
It's sunset and Cesc is bored, rifling through Iker's books. He's naked, which isn't different from any other time after he showers. He notices Iker looking at him, at the long jagged mark over his ribs. He walks over and places Iker's hand on it. His body is hot from the shower.
"Feel."
Iker has felt, but not since it knitted up.
"It's gonna be the coolest scar," Cesc tells the ceiling, grinning. "Chamakh's gonna be so jealous."
Iker trails the tips of his fingers down his side. Cesc's skin goosebumps under his touch.
Iker reaches his hip. Passes it.
"Don't start something you're not gonna finish," Cesc warns. He's quiet, watching.
Iker doesn't stop and Cesc straddles his lap, lets Iker touch his stomach, his nipples, his thighs. After a few minutes, he's pressing his hips forward, breathing quicker, turned on. He's concentrated on the hand tweaking his nipple and Iker sneaks the other around to spread him-rubs over him dry, but doesn't press in.
Cesc shivers, tightens under the pads of Iker's fingers. Iker's never touched him there before. And when Cesc starts understanding, sees Iker reaching for the lube, it feels like he's shaking a little under Iker's palm.
"It's not a big deal," Iker says. It isn't. He's fucked lots of people.
"It is," Cesc insists. He cuts himself off, biting down hard on his lip as Iker sinks a finger into him. Another.
Iker shifts, gets a feel for him. He angles his hand and bends his wrist. Curls his fingers. Cesc grabs on tighter to him, panting.
Iker moves a little higher. Does it again. Cesc babbles, but when Iker moves to the left and presses, holds, Cesc's hips jerk up, stomach going tight. His cock drools. Iker presses the heel of his hand against the spot behind his balls and rubs his fingers in tight circles inside of him and Cesc rises up like someone's pulling him on strings. He rocks on Iker's hand, riding it like a cock.
"Oh god. Oh fuck. Fuck," he stammers, looking down at his dick slapping on his stomach, at what he can see of Iker's wrist, the muscles working in his forearm.
He suddenly tilts up and forward, wanting to come, and Iker works his hand free and unbuttons his jeans, rolls on a condom and slicks his cock up. He arranges Cesc's thighs how he wants them and lines himself up. Suddenly, Cesc grabs his wrist. Iker checks his face. His eyes are big, his mouth open.
"You're going to keep me around after this, right?"
There's a certain vulnerability to it that Iker wasn't expecting.
"Probably."
Cesc licks his lips and nods. He steadies himself and pushes down on just the head of Iker's cock before he freezes up and falters-Iker frames his hips and pulls him down all the way and Cesc's spine goes stiff, his fingers tightening. His jaw is slack. Iker lets him stay there for a bit, seated in Iker's lap, before he nudges up. Cesc clamps around him, holding on tight to his jacket.
"You're supposed to move," Iker says.
"I know." Cesc grits his teeth, frustrated. "I will."
Iker leans in and Cesc thinks he's going to bite him or maybe he just doesn't want him to move-he hits his back with the flat of his palm fast again and again, but Iker just tilts his head, brushes his lips across Cesc's neck. Cesc actually shudders. Iker reaches down and takes a hold of his dick-Cesc moans and Iker lets go.
"Why?"
"Made you tighter. Defeats the purpose."
"Fuck," Cesc says. He settles on his knees with new determination, carefully starts moving himself. At first he tries up and down, like he'd seen in porn, probably, but it doesn't seem to do much for him. He seats himself and tries rolling instead. It's better. His expression changes when he finds the right spot, and he immediately repeats the movement. He starts getting into a rhythm, languidly circling his hips, and Iker forgets why they didn't do this sooner.
"Man," Cesc says, his head falling back. His voice is strained, but happy. "We'll have to go back to Sergio's. To give back the gun. And you'll have to buy. Virgin blood. And he's gonna-"
Iker remembers now. Cesc is fucking annoying. He vices his hips and drives up into him and Cesc groans, starts jerking himself off.
"Normal blood works alright," Iker reminds him, fucking him hard. He presses his thumb in Cesc's palm against the bandage that's always there, covering the scars.
For some reason, Cesc doesn't argue with this. He arches his back, twisting his hand in Iker's to clutch it-his body jerks a few times, quick erratic movement, then he comes.
Iker thrusts a few more times, slow and long, before he follows.
They're still holding hands. Iker peels his away and lifts Cesc off his dick.
"Fuck," Cesc says.
Iker gets up to throw the condom away.
"Fuck," Cesc repeats, looking down at his body like he doesn't even understand it. "I'm sore. Get my gyro?"
Iker takes off his jacket and tosses it on the counter. He opens the fridge, looking for a beer. "Your gyro's still in the truck."
"Get it?"
"It's been there for three weeks."
"That is gonna smell. The worst. I'm not cleaning it." He reaches for Iker's beer and Iker holds it out of reach.
"Underage."
"Come on," Cesc says, turning on the TV.
Iker sits down next to him and Cesc settles on his shoulder. He turns on Wheel of Fortune. Iker lets him have a sip of his beer.
"We have to go to Sergio's tomorrow," Cesc says. He's tired.
"This weekend."
"Thursday."
Iker doesn't answer, which means they'll go on Thursday. Cesc turns his face into Iker's arm and Iker can feel him smiling, then he bites him very gently, mouth open over Iker's shirt.