I feel the air surge with his energy as Dillon runs toward me. He always loved running, to feel the wind in his hair and the earth give under his toes. It's different now, though. We can't feel the wind or the earth underfoot, only energy. Energy, that is all there is between the two of us, and everything else.
"What now?" I ask as he flits over the ground with his legs and arms pumping.
He can't pretend to be out of breath, though. Imitating life only goes so far.
"A group is coming!" He laughs as he leaps over a log. It rocks slightly when his surge mists over its peeling bark.
Jumping - another faux activity.
I roll my eyes. "A group if what?" It takes a small measure of concentration to anchor my hand on the deck slats and stand.
The tingling sensation of crossing through the tightly woven field of solid objects makes my stomach quiver, I prefer to avoid it. Not him, though, he says it makes him feel drunk.
His energy bleeds into mine with a delicious pull. We're drawn to each other like a planet and its moon. Our magnetic fields knot together.
His blue eyes gleam under the pink of fading sunlight. "Hunters."
I giggle. "Sounds like fun. The developers who were working on the place never came back."
After scaling the steps he wraps his hand around mine, our energies crackle and hum as he pulls me in for a kiss. Though death doused many simple pleasures it has given us a newfound appreciation for contact with one another. The sensation of our fields touching and mingling is indescribable.
He pulls away from our glowing kiss. "Dibs on the attic."
I shake my head and explain, "You were in the attic last time. Besides, we had more fun when we were together." I wriggle my eyebrows suggestively.
He grins like a wicked school boy having devised the ultimate prank. "Oh that's way hot," he purrs.
We stand on the deck, fingers stroking together. Relaxing in our crackling surge as it twirls and dances invisibly.
The engines chug as they make their way over the pocked roadway. The years have taken its toll on the grounds of The Clover Bed and Breakfast. The pot-hole road, the crumbling bridges, the dying trees, the overgrown lawn, and the cracking exterior. All signs of abandonment and age.
The string of autos comes into view. Headlights glare, casting long shadows through the tree trunks. Dust coats the sleek, silvery trim. Vehicles have changed considerably since we first found our way here through the fog in the 1980’s.
People rarely come this way since the B and B closed years after our arrival. I always told Dillon that if he kept pestering the guests they would stop coming, he didn’t listen. Soon, Mr and Mrs Swan went into a deficit due to a lack of content patronage, and they were forced to shut the doors. Dillon claimed he appreciated the quiet, but I missed the life. The families, the excitement, the drama. Above all, I miss the smell of food cooking.
Years later developers bought the estate with the intention of renovating and remodelling. By that time we were suffering from a lack of human connection. It was all fun and games for us until Dillon went too far, again. Somehow, he made contact with the contractor’s aura, who then died of a heart attack. That was last year during the spring time. Ever since then the only visitors who have come this way are the Hunters.
I suppose that means we’re the only thing worth seeing. They don’t come to admire the plankton caked koi pond in the back.
The engines echoes off the façade and tree line as the vans pull up in front of the building, filling the air with dust and exhaust. A smoky cloud of natural filth drifts over the deck, surrounding us. Dillon grabs at his chest and falls to the ground, writhing on the weather worn deck.
“Oh stop,” I chuckle, waggling my finger at him. “It’s almost nightfall and if you do too much you’ll exhaust yourself.”
He sprawls across the porch surface, arms out to his sides, legs cocked sideways. He chirps, “Yes, Ms Gillicuttie,” in his best schoolboy tone.
“Don’t call me that,” I snark at him as I kick his shin. The contact courses in the field between us with a crackling sensation.
His eyes fly open and he gives me a slinky grin. “Leah, I don’t think that had the effect you wanted it to.”
I turn away from him and watch as the group of Hunters dig cases of equipment and reams of electrical cord from the vehicles. Talking and jabbering, they slowly set up a tent.
“Which one?” Dillon asks, now draping his body over the stairs like a bear rug. His head rests on the ground; his feet barely touch the top rung.
I eye the group of three girls and five guys, all of them wearing matching black t-shirts. There is another group of people carrying production equipment: cameras and boom mikes.
I sigh as I sit next to Dillon’s lazy form. “They’re pro. Must be a television show or something like that.”
Dillon fist-punches the air. “Totally awesome! We’ll be on TV! Maybe I can get my face to show up this time.”
I shake my head, chuckling under my breath. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“The heavy guy,” I point to the group, “with the bald head.”
Dillon cranes his neck to see. “There are two baldies.”
“The one with the goatee.”
He considers this for a moment. “Yeah, he’ll be good. He looks tough but I bet he’ll scream like a girl.”
I scowl at him. “I am a girl.”
“And you’re dead.”
The truth hurts. I hate it when he brings it up in any type of conversation. “So are you,” I say, sulking.
The air pulses with the the people's presence as they draw closer to us. Cameras perched on shoulders, random pieces of electronic instruments clutched in their hands.
"The last major haunting event happened last summer." A tall female says as they walk together. "It is believed that these malevolent spirits caused the death of Mr Longen."
I hurry away from the step, I don't want contact. Dillon stays where he is, head on the earth, feet on the stairs, as the people pass through his aura. My stomach flips as he closes his eyes and takes in the sensation. Feet pass through his hands and legs. A girl with heels makes contact with his stomach as she clumps up the steps. I have to turn away. The visual is creepy and sends chills down my spine.
"You’re such a chicken." He says with a lazy slur, "but I like being the malevolent one." he cackles like a classic horror movie entity.
The sun’s rays dip below the tree line, taking with it the warm static that the beams bring. The air suddenly grows stagnant as the ground soaks up the last of the light's charge.
Dillon jumps up. "Fuck!"
"You shouldn’t stay until it grows still." Scowling, I turn to go inside and leave the night behind.
The Clover is a sprawling structure. In its early days it was a destination for wealthy families. Ivory and mahogany trim, rosewood flooring and marble tiles. Now, it's all the same neutral shade of dusty brown.
I've tried dusting, but that's another activity that's a waste of effort. In fact, I think dusting only attracted more dust. Not surprisingly, really, considering that without the sunlight and other sources of energy we'd fade away. I don't think I can repel energy even if I tried.
Dillon wraps his arms around my waste and instantly the stillness of the dark fades. I feel electrified, in control, powerful, and vibrant again. I need his touch like an addict needs his next hit.
We make our way up the grand staircase to the first landing which stretches out over the foyer. Sitting with our feet dangling through the banister slats we watch.
The living room is the usual setup hub for Hunters. The team busies themselves with stringing out lengths of cable, setting up camera stands, aiming everything toward an area of 'activity.' Setup only takes them 30 minutes.
All the while Dillon is criticizing everything they do. As the main hauntor he has a good sense as to what's really effective. Apparently this setup doesn't please him at all.
"That one looks like he's two seconds away from a heart attack already. . .Why'd he even come . . .That camera angle is going to be hard to work with . . .The moonlight floods the corner too much. . ."
I eventually shut him up with a jarring bite to the neck. My teeth connect with his preternatural flesh sending a sweet flutter into my bones. He lets out a guttural hum before raking his fingers up my neck and through the curls of my hair.
“Don’t you want to wait?” He asks all the while trailing the tips of his fingers over my scalp, sending his current over my skin.
I answer him with a hand caressing the bulge of his pants, tracing the outline of his cock. “You don’t feel like you want to wait. How long have you been so unbelievably hard for me?” I grip him, making him thrust against the pressure. My hand tingles deliciously as we share the connection.
“Leah, you’re the Devil.” Dillon moans out as he throws himself back onto the floor. Quickly he unzips his pants and rustles them off his legs. They flutter through the air and land with a muffled flump to the floor below.
I hear a female from the group gasp with excitement.
We strip each other of our shirts, giggling as they're sent below one after the other. I wrap my arms around the railing as he peels off my jeans. His fingernails send a stunning pulse through the needy flesh of my pussy as he strokes me.
Trailing my fingers over the smooth flesh of his stomach, I lean forward to kiss the thick of his chest. My mouth over his frenzied lungs makes him shiver and groan. My lips heat with an appealing tickling sensation as the air around us trills.
He paws at the round of my ass as he flips me down onto the landing. I lose my concentration and feel the thick, foul pull as I pass through the solid surface below. My stomach clenches. Cursing, I struggle to right myself. Dillon throws his head back and laughs loudly as he helps me up.
We’re distracted by a pair of females approaching the landing. Their proximity, with electronics in hand, is like a charged plug in our humming sensory field.
Dillon chuckles at the two as he grips his hard cock and pumps it wildly. I know what he’s thinking: he misses the feel of real flesh. I don’t take it personally, though, I’m the same way.
I envy the makeup they can wear and the clothes they can change into. Of course, I’ve seen very little in the way of fashion. It’s always jeans the t-shirts for the Hunters. While both are wearing matching outfits, one female has her blond hair pulled back, the other boasts a brightly colored spikey hairdo of sorts.
I swat his shoulder. “Quit that, they can’t see you.”
He eyes them greedily. “I know. If I concentrate hard enough they can feel me, though.”
I roll my eyes as I climb on top of him, straddling his thighs, his knuckles grazing the flesh of my belly as I brace my hands on his chest. “Hah, yeah, they’ll feel a mighty strong headache.”
His hands travel up and down my back, heating a tingling and vivid path. I can feel the air around us growing more tense and heavy with the spark that’s between us.
Bucking my hands off his chest, he props himself on his elbows and wraps his lips around one of my breasts. Suckling slowly, he groans. His eyes mist with a thrilling hazy blue, like a plasma globe.
As I close my eyes and let his charge course over my skin, prickling and fluttering, the females chatter about the spiked readings on their devices. The energy of the room pulses as the others come to join. They’re all perched on the steps together, monitoring and snapping photos of the air.
I feel the delicious charge build inside me, under my fingernails, beneath the skin. My body sings with the passion between us. A strong surge pulses through me. My eyes widen with the strength of the sensation, giving me a sense of weightlessness, grounded only to him.
“God, that’s incredible,” he murmurs, our eyes locked on each other. “I love your colors, baby. That. Is. Sexy.” He growls and playfully grazes his teeth over my stiff nipples, again and again, until I’m quivering. My fingers spasm with the voltage of his heated mouth on my charged skin.
With a seductive smile I wrap my fingers around his cock. “God, it does. They bring the most sensual energy, don’t they?” The contact of my tingling hands and his hard length sparks in the air. A wisp of blue, like a vapour, leaps off our joined thighs, and seeps out across the floor before dissipating.
Dillon looks over my shoulder, no doubt eyeing the cameras perched on shoulders by people who are oblivious to our lurid display. All they see are climbing numbers, and feel the coldness in the room as we take in their auras to feed our wanton thirst.
My mind is filled with flames of blue and green as we kiss, greedily drinking each other in through our pores. Our sex-tainted mist flavours the air. I smell it, like sunshine and moonlight twinned together. He feels like a live wire underneath me, solid but animated with the energy from deep inside. Tongues tasting our yellow and orange kiss.
The landing around us is now populated with the Hunters. I can feel the contact they have with the solid surface of the stairs. Their charge as it webs with the edge of our energies is like a faint touch in a faraway place.
Reluctantly, I pull away from his enchanting mouth and raise myself off his thighs. Grasping his cock in one hand, I poise myself over him. My mind is attuned to every atom in our bodies. We ignite together as I slide down on him, taking him inside, thick and sweet.
His eyes lock onto mine, his orbs dancing with his living electric blue.
“Love.” I feel it in his fingers, his hands, in his thighs as they meet the flesh of my backside. It’s in the air and in my lungs as I inhale the scent of our ethereal sex.
The cameras recording, optics flashing, all are a background presence. Mere sustenance to feed on as whips of flame reach out across the floor.
Our blazing auras swallow the souls of their feet, the laces of their shoes, and creeps up their calves. I can feel them; hot tendrils of energy on the edge of my sensory field, invading our flaming mist like probing fingers.
Gripping his hands, I complete our circuit as I work myself onto him feverishly. A steady, insistent rhythm. Dillon is a carnal fire underneath me as our friction feeds the flames that wrap around the railings and travel down the stairs. It knits a blanket of lust and need which swells to smother the room. It works its way into every nook, every crack, every crevice. Glazing over the window panes and dusty picture frames, the room bleeds into us.
The excitement of those around us witnessing an unnamed, mysterious event feeds into us. The switch has been thrown and we take all the current in as I increase my pulsing grind.
The electric threads of our flame-blanket enclose the room. Dillon arches his back, raising his hips off the floor as he braces his hands against my waist. With delicious speed, he thrust into me. A dizzying rhythm that sends wave after wave of a violent pleasure through me, around me, and under my skin.
My vision glows white as he drives himself deep inside me. I can sense the shatter of glass and the quake of the solid webs as our jolting surge explodes outward.
One by one, I feel each of the heated tendrils of energy as they slowly cool, diminish, and flicker out. We pull their excess of energy in like a magnetic sphere, taking and consuming.
He ts up so we’re chest to breast, and he wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tight. Arching and curving his torso, he guides me over him with a sweet and slow motion. Our bodies are fully engulfed by the surge between us as the last of the Hunter’s energy sources is consumed and our overpowering orgasms ease away.
Eyes wide, never leaving his, as the waves of power exchange subsides. My senses are heightened and I feel the emotions of the Hunters as they pass through our joined embrace: excitement, fear, intrigue, anxiety, and one triumphant peal of delight.
I turn to look over my shoulder into the flame wrapped eyes of the elated Hunter. I grin as I sense that evidence of our lusty tryst has been caught on tape – a ghostly mist, the fractured window panes.
The flaming world of electric passion is only for us.
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