Samael and Elijio is written by Alicia E. Goranson and read by Soleil Golden.
Transcript:
George solemnly regards the numbers in William’s ledger, line by line, until they find one that does not match the expected figure. They put the book down and pick up their coat and hat, calling for their carriage and driver. They step outside into the clouded night. They give directions and set off, hours on end, stuck in a rattling carriage without light. George brings the latest serial of Mr. Dickens’ to try to make the time pass on the way
And they are under a balcony of an ornate home owned by a family Elijio trusts. Elijio slides into the shadow under the full moon with George and they wrap their fingers together, staring into the wells of each others’ pupils. Then they kiss, tasting each others’ lips and tongues, greedily stealing what precious liquid exists in each others’ maws. Their hands unlock, fighting against buttons, collars, digging until they reach bare skin, flicking nipples, clawing bosoms, demanding every ounce of heat from the other. They are careful not to leave marks, but it would be so easy and a lovely reminder about this secret tryst
And George’s carriage stops outside the house of Mr. and Mrs. Monday, who were given charge by William to manage the finances of trade in this seaside village. George steps down the carriage’s side and enjoys a bit of steadiness before ascending to the Monday’s door. They rap once, twice, thrice, until a servant, half-asleep and pale, answers. George does not wait for permission to enter. They saunter by while the servant nips at their heels as a puppy. “M’lord, you cannot go in. The sir and madam are sleeping!”
“I assure you,” George gives all the response they intend to. “That is the last thing they are doing.”
George walks upstairs to the Monday’s bedroom and without hesitation, breaks down the door where
Elijio’s hands are the first to plunge into George’s trousers. George’s cock bears a deep hunger. “If you’re going to be base about it,” they say and run their fingers down Elijio’s chest until they’ve grasped their prize. But Elijio is the stronger of the two and forces George against the wall, kissing them for good measure, ears open for anyone who might have heard them like
Mrs. Monday screams a full second before George slaps their clawed hand over her mouth. Mr. Monday charges at George and breaks a chair over their back. George is undeterred. “Mr. Monday,” they say. “Six hundred, twenty-three pounds, and four shillings or I make one of you a widower. And I haven’t decided which yet.”
“You can’t ask that of us,” Mr. Monday begs. “Our family has debts. There is no money to give.”
“You behave as if I care,” George says, feeling William’s stare burning their own back. Feeling
Elijio’s own mouth consuming their cock, in and out, in and out with that nasty, incomparable tongue. George wants to enjoy it. Elijio wants to enjoy it. They have about fifteen minutes left before they need to stop and return to work.
How do you live in the moment when the past and future beat on you like George on Mr. Monday for a paltry sum of cash, like Elijio on George to feel something in their small, savage lives, or like William on the two of them if he ever catches them together again in anything but a professional capacity?
George extracts several teeth from Mr. Monday while exploring Elijio’s fine, sharp maw and there is no escape for any of them, and it feels like there never, ever will be.
-END-
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