The steady staccato beat of footsteps echoed within the fog, the thick mist wrapping around the sound sometimes muffling it sometimes magnifying and bouncing it back to the lone figure making his way home, with hands shoved deep within the pockets of his charcoal gray suit jacket, head bowed in thought. He walked this street every morning and every night. He knew exactly how the street would look if the thick streamers of fog hadn't hidden it from view. Every step would take him closer to home following the same path he always took a path he could walk in his sleep.

Day in and day out he followed the same routine, a routine he had come to enjoy. After years of hard study and persistence he had finally settled into the job he wanted. Now he lived each day in a quiet contentment, secure in knowing that nothing would upset his carefully built world.

His footsteps stuttered as he tripped on a fog hidden obstacle, arms flying through the air in an undignified attempt to regain his balance. Once he had both feet securely placed on the ground he let out a sigh of relief, glad he hadn't ended up face first on the concrete.

With a slightly irritated tug he resettled his jacket before turning to peer through the mist in search of the snag that had tripped him. Whatever it was would need to be moved. It was dangerous to have things sticking out onto the sidewalk. It appeared to be a pair of boards but as he grasped them his hands met cloth not wood or plastic.

With a startled cry he let go placing one hand over his heart as he tried to steady his breathing. It wasn't all that strange to find a drunk passed out on the sidewalk or some homeless person sleeping there. Cautiously he moved close again, this time reaching out to shake the person's shoulder. "E-excuse me. Um, h-hello?" he stuttered in an attempt to wake the person. When this produced no response he swallowed hard. Was this person dead or just unconscious?

He pressed shaking fingers to the person's neck. The first thing he noticed was how cool the skin felt. Then distant almost not there he felt the flutter of a heartbeat. It seemed to grow a little stronger the longer he waited. Relief washed over him and he released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

This person was alive but clearly not well. What should he do? Take them to hospital. What if they couldn't afford the costs? There didn't appear to be any signs of abuse. Although the body was dangerously thin and boney. Closer inspection showed that this was a boy probably in his late teens.

Must be runaway, he thought with a shake of his head. There was no help for it. He would have to take the boy home for now. Picking the young man up he was shocked at how light he felt. How long had it been since this boy had a good meal? Obviously it had been too long.

In a short time he was settling the boy on his couch in the living room of his apartment, tucking a thick blanket around the thin chilled body. Under the lights he could now clearly see his impromptu guest.

The boy had black hair, two sections died a deep royal purple at each temple. The hair was shaggy and fell in choppy layers against the boys cheeks and neck. His skin was pale as though all the blood had drained away, all of it except his lips. They were deep pink like the petals of a rose. He found himself wondering if they would have the same velvet soft feel as the flower they so closely resembled.

Kneeling on the floor next to the boy he once again pressed fingers to his neck checking for a pulse. It was there stronger, more steady. Tentative fingers brushed back the hair obscuring the boys face, gently tracing it's contours the high cheekbones, sharp jaw line. The boy was truly beautiful.

Again his eyes found those perfect lips. He felt so drawn to them. Wondered what they would taste like, how they would feel. It wasn't until he felt the warmth of his own breath that he realized he had leaned in close. Now he hovered inches away from satisfying his curiosity.

A very small voice in the very back of his head urged him to stop. Pointing out that this wasn't like him, that he had never liked guys and certainly wasn't given to molesting unconscious teenagers. Such thoughts quickly faded at the first soft brush of lips against lips, the velvety warm feel of that skin as he gently licked them.

The boy gave a sweet sigh parting his lips to the questing tongue. Lost to sensation and need the man delved into that inviting depth. His tongue eagerly tasting the others before further exploring the sweet warmth.

Once more that warning voice surfaced. Something was wrong. He should stop. This wasn't right. But he couldn't quite find the strength, the willpower to pull away. His thoughts slowed and he slumped against the smaller body. Finally their lips parted as the man fell into a deep, bliss filled sleep.

"Hnn," the boy murmured his eyes blinking open and taking in the man laying half on top of himself. The perfect lips that had so tempted the man now turned down in a frown of frustration.

"Damn it, not again," the boy growled. He had thought that this time he would die. That he had chosen a spot where he wouldn't be found. Where his powers wouldn't be able to draw another victim to him. Now it was too late. This man was caught and the boy had no choice but take responsibility once again.

When the man woke he would feel normal but would crave contact with the boy. That was the nature of his power. For he was an incubus. One who fed on the lust of others. Even if he hated this fact and tried to deny it his magic would act on its own. Drawing others to the boy.

So many times he had tried to stop feeding. But every time he awoke to a similar scene. Some hapless person, sometimes male sometimes female, would have fallen victim to him. The kiss of an incubus was addictive. It was one way of assuring a steady source of energy. One kiss and a human was addicted. The more intimate he was with a person the stronger a hold he gained. He could easily turn this man into his own personal slave; one that would follow his every order without hesitation.

The man stirred and lifted his head. Looking up into the grass green eyes of his new master.

"Hello," the boy said calmly the sad smile warming a little, "I am Nehalem. Who are you?"

The man blinked looking like he was having trouble thinking. Finally he spoke. "Itami, Itami Ren."

"Well then Ren. Thank you for saving me. But I'm afraid I am still hungry."

"Ah! Wait here, I'll bring you something to eat," Ren assured standing and beginning to make his way to the kitchen.

"Stop," Nehalem commanded in his quiet voice. "Come here." He held out his hand to the older looking man.

Ren returned to the couch a slightly puzzled look on his face. When Nahalem took his hand and pulled him down onto the couch, until there bodies were aligned and pressed close, he blushed. In his mind he wanted to pull away but his body didn't seem to be listening.

"It's alright," Nehalem soothed. "The food I need can not be found in a kitchen," he explained tangling his hands in the other's dark brown hair and slowly drawing Ren closer. The other man resisted at first but as Nehalem's sweet breath tickled against his skin he lost the will to resist. Eyes fluttering shut he let Nehalem guide him into their second kiss. This time it was the black haired youth that swept his tongue into the others mouth.