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“Jon. What a pleasant surprise.”
Jon just rolled his eyes as Elias took a step back, letting him walk into the foyer of his home. If Elias actually wanted him to believe that he hadn’t known he was coming, he should have made an effort to pause for a believable length of time before answering the door.
Still. He’d answered. Jon had been convinced that he wouldn’t, had steeled himself to need to hammer on the ornate brass door knocker and yell through the letterbox for attention. Perhaps this meant he was going to get some answers, but he wasn’t holding out any hope. He wasn’t even sure if that was why he was here, only that he felt as though he was teetering on the brink of insanity and he hadn’t known where else he could possibly go.
His mouth tasted like the cigarette he’d smoked on his way here and stale sweat clung to his underarms. He hadn’t slept last night but he didn’t feel tired, and that in itself sent panic thrumming through him, that creeping sense of his own diminishing humanity. He hadn’t eaten anything in hours but when he thought of food he felt sick and when he thought of his empty stomach all he could imagine was the click of a tape recorder.
“What am I becoming, Elias?”
“Yourself,” Elias said after a moment, and Jon barked out a harsh laugh, pacing Elias’ parquetry front hallway, unable to keep his jittery body still.
“I don’t want this. I want to be… normal. Human.”
“You remain human in the ways that matter.”
“And you?” Jon asked, not sure if he was accusing or begging, “Are you still human?”
Elias gazed at him with those cool grey eyes, wearing the suit that he’d last worn the previous Tuesday, the one with a slight pull to the weft of the lining just underneath the right lapel if you knew where to look, which Jon now did, apparently, as though this knowledge was ever going to do him any good, as though it was worth trading his humanity for.
“Where it counts.”
“Prove it,” Jon said, a note of desperation in his voice, not knowing what he wanted, what would prove it to him, what would stave off the simmering panic attack, just that he needed something, some last sign that there was something to cling to.
For another long silent moment, Elias just looked at him.
“Get on your knees,” he told him, and Jon swallowed, throat very dry, but he was lowering himself to the polished ground even before he made a conscious decision to obey.
When he saw Elias’ hands going for his belt, he thought he understood where this was going. He wasn’t as surprised by it as he thought he probably should be, although he wasn’t sure he enjoyed the implication of sex as a signifier of humanity. Still, he wouldn’t have said no. In fact, when Elias’ fingers reached out and tightened in his hair, holding Jon’s head still, it was because Jon had actively been leaning forwards in anticipation of what he thought was coming next, and Elias was stopping him.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the idea,” Elias said, tilting Jon’s head back, “But I had something else in mind.”
Jon stared, utterly baffled, as Elias pulled out his cock with the hand that wasn’t keeping Jon at a distance. He was only left wondering for a moment before he saw the mostly soft shaft nestled against Elias’ palm twitch, and then.
And then Jon was being hit in the chest with a thick stream of urine. He gasped, in shock more than disgust, unable to take his eyes from it just as he knew Elias had intended. Positioning them both so he could get a good view of the piss bursting out of the slit in Elias’ cock, soaking his sweaty t-shirt, coating the fabric and turning the grey of it into a dark charcoal. Amber liquid dripping down the hollow of his throat and collecting in the dip of his collarbones.
It was ridiculous, and vile, and he knew in one heartstopping moment that Elias knew him more than anybody else possibly could because who else would have known that this was exactly what he needed? To feel the warmth of this man’s urine bathing his body and to be instantly calmed by it? To feel the filthy animal flesh of them both and know that the blood pounding in his ears meant he was alive, more human than he’d felt in months?
The urine that was dripping off his jeans and gathering in a pool around his knees was pale straw in colour and not as bitter in scent as he might have expected and there was such a quantity of it that he had to wonder whether Elias had been chugging pints of water in preparation, knowing that Jon was wandering the streets of London and being drawn inevitably towards his home.
Had the pressure in his bladder been uncomfortable as he waited for Jon to finish his cigarette at the corner of the street? Had he squirmed in his seat, far too full of what he was intending to give him? His body aching, desperate to yield to its biological urges?
Neither of them had blinked this entire time. When Elias’ piss slowed to a trickle, Jon wordlessly shuffled forwards on his knees so he didn’t break the stream, allowing it to splatter against his thighs, watching as Elias lightly squeezed himself to urge out every last drop. His cock wasn’t entirely soft anymore but neither was Jon’s.
This time, when Jon leaned forwards, Elias didn’t stop him. He sighed, threading his fingers through Jon’s hair, letting him press his tongue inexpertly against him, tasting him. The sweet clean smell of Elias’ soap and the acrid tang of his piss and the salt of his sweat. Jon needed more. He needed, more than he could ever possibly have imagined, to know the taste of his semen, to see how he looked when he came.
He wasn’t waiting for long. Despite the undoubtedly amateurish way he took Elias in his mouth, struggling with what to do with his teeth and unable to take him any further than halfway without gagging on the hard length threatening to intrude into his throat, it didn’t seem like Elias minded.
“Wonderful, Jon,” he praised him softly, fingertips twitching against his scalp, and Jon hungrily drank in the sight of him as he gasped and rolled his hips forwards, filling Jon’s mouth with the hot pulse of his release and watching him swallow it down.
They cleaned up the mess of Elias’ hallway together in silence before Elias wordlessly led Jon to his shower, stripping him off with far more gentleness than Jon would ever have expected before finally returning the favour, making Jon come with a cry against the tiles, one of Elias’ hands wrapped around his cock and two fingers pressed inside him, fingering him until his legs nearly gave way beneath him.
When he took him to bed, their damp bodies pressed so close together that Jon’s brain struggled to puzzle out whose limbs were whose, he closed his aching eyes and allowed himself to sink into the deepest sleep he’d had since he’d first joined the Archives. For a moment, everything was worth the horror.