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SJ and Cas are up for hanging out more, but I have the honest excuse of grad work to finish. I’m not too disappointed to part ways, since it means that after my assignment is submitted, I get to have Odai all to myself for something actually resembling normal.
Odai
Jeffrey’s chosen movie as my introduction to cinema is called The Princess Bride. He spent quite some time debating before choosing it but insisted it encapsulates almost anything I could want to understand about cinema storytelling. Humor, romance, action, a grand fairytale told in two time periods, as a storyteller recounts an epic tale to his grandson, and through the magic of cinema, the audience is able to witness that tale rather than only imagine.
I quite enjoy it, and the way it feels to have Jeffrey tucked beside me as we lie upon his bed and watch the movie on the large television screen I conjured for us.
We were going to watch it on his laptop, which he apologized for.
“Sorry, I don’t have a TV, so the screen’s a little small for this, but I’m sure you’ll still enjoy it.”
“Jeffrey,” I’d said, “you realize how silly it is to apologize for not having something that you can easily wish for me to remedy.”
“Oh! I guess you’re right.” He’d laughed and with each successive wish, I felt the tingle of being sated. “Um, I wish to have a stand—oh! A chest at the end of my bed. I’ve always wanted one of those old cedar chests. And I wish for a sixty-inch TV to be resting on it that I can cast movies to from my laptop or phone. Do I need to explain what casting means?”
“No. So long as you understand it, I can grant it.”
And I did.
The pillows are propped behind us so we can sit up against the headboard, but we are still mostly lying together, and Jeffrey fits wonderfully in my arms. He doesn’t talk much during the film, saying he doesn’t want to spoil it for me, but from time to time, he lets me know when a line or moment is his favorite. He has many favorites, and I catch him watching me for my reactions more than enjoying the movie himself.
It is not typical of my owners for my desires to matter too.
I hunger, as I always do, as time passes without a new wish made, but there is a way aside from wishes that I can sustain myself. At least now, in this earlier stage of the emptiness that grows in me, I can be sated on Jeffrey alone.
When the movie goes black and the room is darker for it, I turn my head to look at him, seemingly so small in my arms and blinking back at me behind his large glasses with the loveliest of golden green eyes.
“Did you like it?” Jeffrey asks.
“Oh yes. And I am inspired by it, for one cannot hear tales of the most passionate, most pure of all kisses, and not want to rival that.”
Jeffrey giggles as if he thinks I am jesting, but then his face fills with wonder when I continue to look at him, waiting for permission to do just that. “W-we, um… might need to work our way up to that kind of kiss. It was perfect for Westley and Buttercup because they love each other.” There is an aching hope in those words, and though I know I am getting too attached too quickly, for once, my personal desires might be stronger than my curse.
I want to answer that hope, even if it hasn’t been wished of me.
Even if love isn’t something I can grant.
“Then, Jeffrey, shall we start our journey toward working our way to perfect?” I tilt his chin up and lean closer, but still, I wait.
“Yes,” he says, not a wish, just desire, and I relish in its taste as I kiss him.
He enjoys my tongue slit and long from my cursed form. It is as much me as the guise I wear, so I am glad he enjoys it. I am glad for how he moans when my tongue coils with his.
Jeffrey pulls back to take off his glasses and deposits them on the nightstand, then returns with zeal to kiss me again. His body is drowned within his oversized clothing. I reach beneath the large sweatshirt to touch his slim waist, and I am further pleased by how he leans into my touch. We shimmy down the bed, so we are no longer propped up, and I hold him tight to me, my hand now up around the back of his sweatshirt.
“Odai,” Jeffrey pants, bucking against me.
“Yes, beautiful one?”
“Can I touch you this time? I wish to. If you want me to!” The wry smile he wears when he adds “wish” after a request says he thinks it a game, something almost innocent. It isn’t innocent, but because it soothes my hunger, it is easy to get lost in him. And I do want him to touch me.
“That is my pleasure to grant,” I say and take his hand, sliding it down the front of me and into my trousers, the waist of which has an easy stretch. I do not wear undergarments, and Jeffrey’s eyes widen, tongue flicking out to wet his lips, as he discovers this and boldly wraps his fingers around me.
“You’re cut. Circumcised, I mean.”
“As are you.”
“Yeah, but… you’re from Babylon.” He laughs.
