Since it’s Pride month, I wanted to post more LGBTQ moments from my stories. This is the start of more than a few I have planned, but I have a few posted from previous months. Happy Pride everyone!
The two drifted through the cemetery in near silence, Lestan only speaking up as he noticed something unique in their path. The spirit was content with this, never replying but smiling back to acknowledge the other’s presence. He stopped them once they reached the mausoleum he’d occupied the night before, and he drifted around to the front to see that it was locked. A sadness enveloped him. He didn’t have to worry about those sorts of things. “I am sorry, it seems you cannot come with me to see what I have to show you.”
“In there?” Lestan approached the chain lock and held it in his hand, the rust flaking against his fair skin.
“Yes, inside. Below.” The spirit dispersed through the peeling green doors and was absent for a second, only to resurface as his face faded through the door to look out. Lestan found it amusing and bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. The spirit’s distressed expression didn’t affect his humor. “There is no way to let you inside from here, either.”
“A chain lock isn’t going to keep me out, love. Move back — or don’t, actually.” He finally chuckled. “It’s not like you can actually get in the way, can you?”
“No.” The spirit’s interest was piqued as he hovered beside the vampire anyway, watching intently as hands curled around the chain and pulled tight.
The lock popped away from the metal and rust crumbled to the ground as Lestan applied his full strength, and the iron gate swinging open. The vampire smiled at his victory and pushed against the green doors, the lock in them still intact. It went the same way as the chain, and Lestan stumbled inside. He was careful not to fall down the stairs and stopped before them, allowing the spirit to join him. It seemed the entity was able to manipulate objects in the basest of ways only, which allowed him to close the door behind them. Despite the streaks of moonlight inside, they were awash in darkness.
“So, what’s in here?”
“Down there.” The spirit drifted ahead and Lestan followed him down into an even darker abyss. The pupils in his eyes enlarged like a feline’s as he adjusted to the darkness, seeing everything on par with the entity.
He was nonplussed. “Did you know them?” He looked around at the decayed forms resting in their respective hollows. They’d been down there a while, otherwise the stench would be beyond what the vampire could handle.
The spirit stood in the center of the room, glad that Lestan could see along with him, at least. “No. I just like it here. Come, stand still.” Lestan did as he was told, standing before the spirit in complete silence. “We are beneath the earth now. Can’t you hear it?”
Lestan shook his head. “I hear the wind outside and the insects.”
“There’s something else. Maybe you can’t.” The spirit became sad once more but was comforted by the dull hum of the earth’s pulse. “It’s the sound of life from the source itself.”
“You can hear that?” Lestan finally understood and was in awe. “What does it sound like?”
“Listen. If you can hear the insects, you can hear the pulse. Close your eyes.” The entity closed his own and a small smile was on his lips as he heard it, the thrum surrounding his senses as he became lost in the earth’s song.
Lestan closed his eyes as well, and they stood there in silence for some time before the vampire finally reopened his eyes. The spirit seemed so serene and at peace, and he wondered what it would be like to see other positive emotions on the melancholic being’s face. It suited him more than he would likely ever be able to imagine.
Moving on pure curiosity, Lestan took a step toward the spirit. He was lost in Mother Nature’s thrum and ignored the vampire’s close proximity as Lestan paused right before the specter, their noses nearly touching. Lestan’s lips parted as he observed the entity’s face up close and he found a beauty in it — its features shockingly pale with dark circles around the eyes and charcoal lips. The vampire wondered what they felt like — if they had a feeling at all. He was able to touch the spirit’s hand last night and tonight, and he was sure that while the spirit was distracted he would have his chance to find out.
Lestan slowly ghosted his lips over the spirit’s, a faint feeling of something similar to flesh meeting his own. The spirit finally noticed his closeness and seemed uncertain of what to do, his body remaining frozen as the vampire slid his tongue along the ethereal black lips that had started to tremble. He finally pulled away, his form more corporeal than ever as a light blue blush lit up his cheeks. He had felt a spark of something that he couldn’t put a name to. It felt warm, which was something the spirit did not and should not have experienced. It was nice in all of the wrong ways, and he backed away until he was at the wall of the mausoleum, fading once more.
“No no, don’t fade, sweetheart. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Lestan covered the distance between them and reached out to touch the spirit’s hand, but his own just bled right through. “Don’t you want to know the name I thought of for you?”
“I am not worthy of a name.” The spirit’s voice was shaking and becoming unclear again. “Please do not give me a name. I have no individuality and am not anything other than my purpose.”
“Jack. I want to call you that so I don’t have to keep referring to you as ‘spirit’.”
“Jack? No.” The spirit curled into himself as he flickered.
“It’s from a movie that reminded me of you, honestly.” Lestan smiled awkwardly. He suddenly felt self-conscious; he’d never had to name anything before. What was worse was that it made the spirit highly uncomfortable, even more so than the kiss he’d attempted.
“I must go. Please leave me and do not return.”
“I can’t do that!” Lestan panicked as the spirit began to fade entirely. “I don’t want to leave you alone. You have to be lonely by yourself existing in this agony all the time. You deserve to be happy.” His words resounded off the walls as he was alone at last, the spirit having receded entirely. The vampire approached the stone wall that the spirit had been huddled against, and rested his head against the cold surface. “Jack — please let me call you Jack. If you’re still listening, I’ll be back tomorrow. Wait for me by the same tombstone, okay? I’ll be there until you show up, even if it’s almost sunrise.”
© 2019 Shane Blackheart