Incubus (Ishman)🔞| ✓

Incubus - 2

That was, without a doubt, the best Shubman had slept in years. A contented sigh escaped his lips as he stirred back to consciousness, and then, he remembered.

Ishan.

His eyes darted open, and he looked around quickly. He was still on the sofa, covered in a blanket. Shubman winced as he tried to move his stiff body and groaned as he stood.

Okay, quick inventory of the pain: his neck, back, and hips were all sore from sleeping in an awkward position. And yet he felt like he could run a marathon, or whatever humans did to show off their excess energy.

"Ishan?" he called, leaning into the room Ishan had gone into the night before. The bed was empty.

Then Shubman spotted a note on the coffee table and smiled. Ah. Ishan was at work. Yes, he had mentioned having a life.

'How does this weekend sound?' the note asked.

Shubman's first thought was not soon enough, but he found a pen and lied that it was fine, signing it with a couple of x's and o's. Then three big x's for good measure.

He left the note where he found it before slipping into the crisp morning air.

Shubman felt amazing. He didn't even care that he was shirtless and freezing. He stretched his arms up as far as they could go, then leaned over to touch his toes. He took a deep breath in, and then exhaled slowly.

Everything was great.

Sliding into his car, Shubman drove without a destination, just going around town to watch the city wake up.

He wasn't even a little hungry. He felt like he'd fucked all night, and they'd barely done anything more than a little kissing.

He couldn't wait to fuck Ishan. And, paradoxically, he could. Shubman... liked him.

Holy shit. He liked him.

He turned on the radio and turned up the volume when he found a channel that was playing the right kind of music.

Since he liked Ishan, he should do something special before their next date. But what? What did humans exchange besides fluids and favors?

Ah. The other f-word: flowers.

Then Shubman grinned and took a hard right. He knew exactly what to get Ishan. He pulled into a florist's parking lot and walked quickly inside. He eyed some of the bouquets on display, but went straight to the counter and stared at the woman standing behind it.

Shubman released some of the pleasure thrumming in his veins to coax her into a nice, pliable, cooperative state. It was easier than trying to find a shirt to abide by the arbitrary 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' sign.

"Hi," Shubman said with a smile. "I need roses. Blood red. The darker, the better."

She gave a warm smile, her eyes half-lidded. "Of course, sir," she replied in monotone.

He rested his elbows on the counter to lean in. "And do you have a black vase you could fill with some water dyed red?"

There was a pause, but she nodded. "Yes, sir."