Welcome to Incubus Tales: A Thousand Words by Hushicho. In Noctemberg, it is always night. Dhiar, proprietor and gay incubus, welcomes you to Phantasies, a very special shop. Sensuality is more than just Dhiar’s stock in trade, it is his raison d’être. NSFW.
A new chapter appears every Thursdays. This week is Chapter Four.
4th Night—A Case of You
Dhiar wished he smoked. He could start, he knew, but he didn’t really want to. It’s not that he had any concerns for his body—he could manipulate every part of it, if need be—but he simply didn’t like the taste.
Incense was a different thing altogether. His fingers slipped into the little paper wrapper and pulled out a stalk, setting it in its holder. The box of matches made rushing sounds like a rain stick when he picked it up. He clasped a single wooden match with his fingernails and drew it out, holding it more firmly to strike it, and then to light the tip of the incense.
The end grew cherry-red as he blew on it. Fragrant smoke, faintly kissed with rose’s perfume, curled into the air. No sound came but the sound of the matchbox being set softly down again.
The demon’s dark garnet eyes followed the twists and winding of the wisps of smoke. It lulled him to relaxation. He didn’t need to sleep, or else he’d be unconscious with the gorgeous thing he had brought home. Right now, more than anything, he needed to be awake. He needed to think.
Breath rushed cool over his lips and back out again, warmer than it had come. He barely blinked. His shoulders rose and fell slowly, so slowly that any observers might mistake him for a statue or for furniture.
It never got too bright in Noctemburg. But it was never darker than when the soul was dark as well, when the heart was burdened and the memory too keen. The Incubus let his head tilt slowly to the right, his inner voice playing a wistful song he had heard once, a long time ago, at a place far from that room.
The thing about songs, he reflected inwardly, is that they’re so easy to laugh at and so easy to poke fun at by changing words or exaggerating. Despite all this, the actual song is the one that always sticks in your mind. Just when you thought you’ve forgotten, you hear something that reminds you vaguely of the melody and suddenly you’re singing along, backwards and forwards. You can escape anything, he mused, but a song.
It was the blond hair and the blue eyes that always got to him. He could see them as clear as… well, as clear as what passed for day in Noctemburg. As clear as when he stood in a well-lit room. The sad look gazing from the platform as the train arrived, and then he had to admit his vision faltered for lack of clarity. Excess moisture always ruined that.
Dee… it hadn’t been good. The whole thing wouldn’t work, he could’ve told the man that from the start. They were both nocturnal, at least. One thing in common. Everything else seemed cast in diametric opposite. They had shared moments of brilliant resonance, moments of passion and desire, moments of romantic love and affection, and just as many moments of contention, clashing, and distaste.
The bad always tended to fade, whether for the mind’s own protection from the pain, or from a simple lack of desire to retain unpleasant memories. It led to sentimentality. Sometimes it led to foolish resuming.
He knew he would never lose the feelings that he still had for Dee. He’d heard a story once, about a grandfather and his grandson, who sat down together, and each showed the other his heart: the grandson’s was pure and unblemished and as a heart always appeared in the loveliest of valentines, whereas the grandfather’s was a mass of patchwork with pieces that didn’t fit the holes and weren’t the right shape, colour, or texture.
When the boy asked his grandfather why it was like that, and didn’t it hurt, the grandfather answered that it did hurt sometimes, but the good feelings outweighed the bad. That every time he met someone and cared for someone, he would pinch a piece of his heart and give it to them, and they did it for him too. And even if they ended up parting ways, those pieces of heart could never be returned. They could never go back.
At the end, touched, the grandson pinched off a piece of his heart and offered it to his grandfather, and his grandfather did the same in return.
The song in his head had mentioned something about love being when two souls touch. He could believe that. Souls, like fine wines, mingling inextricably. If even for a moment, they would forever bear the taste of the other.
Dhiar stretched his arms over his head and walked to the window, naked, comfortable in his skin. He had worked hard to sculpt this body through will to what he decided to make it. All of his brethren were the same. Most of them stayed true to their favourite form and barely changed it throughout their existences. Even small changes took sometimes years or longer to decide.
He ran his hand over his chest, down over his stomach, letting his hand fall to the side, fingertips brushing through the soft black hairs sparkling between his legs. No Moon smiled down on Noctemburg aside from the one someone had grandiosely painted on the tall canopy of rock; who knows how they got up there to do it. But the lights of the city managed to make a persistent glow.
The scent of roses hanging faintly in the air soothed him. He barely started as he felt a hand touch his shoulder.
“Hey,” Evvin croaked, voice rough and filled with sleep. “Extended bathroom break?”
Dhiar reached up to place his hand upon Evvin’s. “No, just… well, I don’t actually have to sleep, except for a little rest every few weeks. I figured I’d spare you my tossing and turning.”
The other man slipped his hand back and then wrapped his arms around the Incubus from behind, pressing up against him, rubbing up against his backside. He linked his hands in front, around Dhiar’s waist.
“What time is it?”
“Does it matter?”
Evvin laughed at that quick response. “I guess not. You gonna fix me breakfast before you send me on my way?”
“Tsk.” Dhiar turned and reached up, cupping Evvin’s cheeks with his hands and looking deep, deep into his eyes. “I am not going to send you on your way. You can stay here today… a week… forever, whatever. I’m not going to turn you out just because we slept together, you know.”
“Really?” Evvin stretched his fingers out and rubbed at the top of the Incubus’s buttocks. “I could abuse that.”
Dhiar patted Evvin’s cheek and then let his arms rest upon the man’s shoulders. “But if you opt for the ‘forever’ one, I’m going to have to require your assistance in the shop. You can at least lounge around on the sales floor and look pretty.”
Laughter again rose in the room, floating and lingering with the rose fragrance.
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About the author: From an early age, Hushicho held a special passion for storytelling. Throughout his life, he has worked in numerous media and various places in the world. He is the author of the long-running Incubus Tales webcomic, upon which this serial is based.
Welcome to the intriguing city of dreams, Noctemberg, where it is always night, and to Phantasies, a very special shop run by Dhiar, proprietor and gay incubus. Sensuality is more than just Dhiar's stock in trade, it is his raison d'etre. In Incubus Tales: A Thousand Words, Dhiar meets new loves, rekindles relationships, and bring his special brand of sexual healing to lovers and readers alike.
Also available in paperback!