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“Yeah, let him in.”
To say that Jurgen Leitner was particularly enthusiastic to meet the head of a dusty little institute in a country that he felt had fairly little to do with himself, would be a lie. In fact, there were many ways he’d envisioned the day and giving some geezer a tour of his personal collection wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t a fan of people randomly wanting to peruse his library, but his assistant in acquisition had stressed that the Institute might be useful in obtaining information regarding other volumes.
Jurgen honestly expected a scolding. You’re not even 30 and already neck deep into the occult in ways you are too young to understand. They didn’t understand that being neck deep into trouble was exactly where he preferred to be. It was infinitely better than the boredom the rest of his life provided him.
Technically they couldn’t do anything. These were his possessions, legally.
When he walked in, James Wright wasn’t exactly as Jurgen had pictured him. He was an arguably attractive man in his 40s, with dark hair and the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. He seemed smug already, and Jurgen didn’t exactly feel like they were off to a good start.
“Jurgen Leitner, it’s great to meet the man in person.”
Jurgen mustered a polite smile and nodded, avoiding the handshake the man was offering him. Wright seemed a little offended.
“Yeah, I guess, well. It’s nice to see the face behind the copious letters.”
Wright laughed. “Well, I desperately wanted to see the collection in person, as well as its collector. Both are equally fascinating from what I’ve heard.”
He frowned but nodded politely once more. “Yes, you were very… insistent. There’s not a lot to see, honestly. Not many of the books here are... recommended reading material, but I can just show you the set up?”
“That would be lovely.”
Wright followed behind as Jurgen wandered through the bookcases, explaining loosely its filing system and some of the less confidential items in his possession. Wright asked the polite question here and there but overall seemed quite enamoured with the collection. He listened intently as Jurgen took one of the Egyptian tomes off one of the shelves and showed an illustration he was personally fond of.
Wright seemed amused by the slip of his enthusiasm.
Jurgen frowned as he closed the book. He looked up at the man, who was leaning against the bookcase opposite him. He’d felt it since the moment he’d stepped foot into the room. Something about James Wright was incredibly off. Jurgen hadn’t necessarily considered himself to be a deeply perceptive mastermind, but he knew the looks people gave him. This one was similar, but there was something unreal about it.
He could feel his heart racing.
He knew exactly why this man was here. A scolding, or worse, a threat to destroy his work. You’re playing with fire, Leitner. You’re going to kill yourself and many others, doing this.
He was aware of this but found after many sessions of introspection he cared truly little. He was bored, and the excitement these tomes brought him was unlike anything else.
Except for maybe whatever was happening here.
Wright crossed his arms and sighed deeply. “It seems like you’re in quite the internal debate there, Leitner.”
Jurgen chuckled and placed the book back in its spot, careful to make sure it would not upset the painfully perfect line-up among the copious others. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?” Wright seemed interested, going as far as to place his weight back on his own feet.
Jurgen shrugged. “About these books. How they’re fine here, really.”
For some reason that seemed to amuse James Wright more than he expected. “You know I’m not here to start an argument about your little collection.” He moved away from the bookcase and began to walk out the aisle. Jurgen followed him at a distance.
“In fact, I think your little library is nothing short of magnificent. How many books did you say you had?”
“578,” Jurgen replied.
“That’s a good number, but you’re not satisfied yet, aren’t you?”
Jurgen chuckled. “There’s always more to know.”
“That there is.”
Jurgen stopped following.
“You’re not who you are,” he spoken with sudden realisation.
The clicking of the heels topped as Wright stopped walking and calmly turned. He was smiling.
“Does that intrigue you, Leitner?”
He didn’t know what to think. He honestly hadn’t expected to get this far. “Perhaps,” he replied, “It makes you interesting.”
“Like your little books?”
He felt Wright’s gaze on him, examining him from top to bottom with a shimmer in his eyes. The man was smiling.
Was he, eyeing him?
“You know I find men like you very intriguing. When I heard about your little collection, I will admit I was as much interested in the contents as I was in its owner,” Wright spoke as he walked back over to him. “There’s something about a man with an insatiable, almost destructive hunger for knowledge of the forbidden.”
With every step taken forward, Jurgen backed up until he could feel one of the bookcases block his path. He couldn’t do more than to look at Wright and hold his own.
“Are you saying I’m your type?”, he chuckled, hoping the joke would throw the man off, but perhaps unsurprisingly, it didn’t. Wright was standing right in front of him.
“What do you think I am, Leitner?”
Dodging his question with a question would’ve annoyed Jurgen, if not for the fact that the man’s blatant admittance of Jurgen’s suspicions made his heart feel like it could beat right out of his chest.
“I think...” he started, before clearing his throat. He sounded like a scared little boy, and he wasn’t going to let whatever this man was get the best of him. “I don’t know, you could be anything.”
He could almost see them. There were lifetimes in the eyes of the man in front of him. Lifetimes that didn’t belong to the body holding them.
“Do you wish to see, Leitner?” His voice was insistent, but he could pick out a plea amidst the continuous mocking. Whatever was in him, it wanted to be seen. It was clawing behind the whites of his eyes. Would it be the monster itself or was this man the anglerfish’s light. His thought was interrupted by a knee pushing his way between his legs. He could feel the spines of the books behind him press into his back.
His eyes were so endlessly green.
“Do you?”
The question was a low purr that sent shivers up his spine. He couldn’t do anything but nod. The man was too close. Jurgen could see every line on his face, every bit of beginning grey in the sides of his dark, short hair. He closed his eyes as two hands covered his face, obscuring his view.
The hands never changed, in fact, they slid down to cup his face as a different voice laughed softly.
Green eyes sat comfortably in a slender face. Full lips curled into a smug smile. He was his age, probably. Was this an illusion, or had the other face been a costume?
“Who are you?”, he asked. The man laughed and Jurgen could feel his fingers trail along his jawline.
“Who do you think I am?”
For some reason he just knew. It was like the knowledge appeared in his head, handed to him by the universe. It was written in the depths of that green.
He inhaled sharply. “You’re him.”
The man chuckled against his lips and purred softly before closing the last distance between them.
“Clever boy.”
Hands slid down his neck and found his wrists, pinning them against the spines of books full of trouble. There was no echo in the library, the carpet and the literature soaking up the sounds as if to keep a secret.
How could he feel so different? He shivered as he felt those soft lips, curled into a smile against the skin of his neck, part and teeth sink into the skin to tug on it. He grabbed the auburn hair, which was soft, and pulled him closer. An approving hum buzzed against his collarbone. Nimble fingers working to unbutton his shirt. Eager to make more marks on his skin.
“You’re still handsome, Leitner,” Jonah hummed, “Something tells me I won’t be as fond of you in the future. I can see how age will take you.”
“Are you insulting me?” Jurgen looked down to see the green eyes stare up at him. Through him.
“I’m warning you,” he replied. “I’ve seen many men age out of their beauty. Treasure it now when it’s still in your grasp.” The hand that’d slid down his stomach tightened its grip and Jurgen found he couldn’t stifle his voice anymore.
The metal of the suspenders hit his chest as they were unbuttoned and for the first time today Jurgen felt embarrassed. An embarrassment that was quickly overcome by mortification at just how loud his moan had been when the unexpected heat enveloped him.
“Jonah...”
The only reply was a deep moan, that rang through Jurgen’s entire body. The soft hair tangled in his fingers and he could feel Jonah’s nails dig into his hips.
He was sure at least 4 employees had heard him, and he prayed to every entity in the universe they would mind their business.
His breath quickened and just as he felt inclined to warn the other, Jonah pulled back to look up at him. Those green eyes that never seemed to waver in their determination exuded a hunger Jurgen could only bend to. He watched as Jonah unfastened his own belt and pulled Jurgen close to him into another kiss, demanding his action.
Without hesitation he hiked up a leg on his hip, feeling the hands grasp the back of his neck. A pleasured exhalation rang in his ear, breath hot.
Had he always been this light? How come this felt familiar? The smell of books, the smell of him. The deep annoyance mixed so finely with lust that he didn’t know where one ended and one began. A grudge from a different lifetime.
He could hear the soft hitch of his breath as he entered him and used the moment of vulnerability to push him back against the bookcase. His hands gripped his thigh, digging his nails into the soft flesh.
Harder. Deeper. Faster.
He couldn’t not obey. All he wanted was to be watched by those eyes as he did as he was told. He wanted to hear more out of him. He wanted to swallow the moans as they left his throat.
There was the noise of falling books and some part of him was excited at the possible trouble any of them could bring. This was both the most dangerous and the tamest place to ever have sex. The duality of this made him more eager to screw Jonah on the collection of things that could only hope to be as malicious as him.
Jonah Magnus was a malicious man. Jurgen could feel it in every touch, every sound the man made. But god, he was beautiful and enticing. A poisonous flower with bright leaves, pleading you to touch it until you lose yourself to it.
Even in his ecstasy, Jurgen could feel how Jonah overpowered him. Their breaths in sync as they looked at each other. Green eyes pulling him in until he forgot to breathe.
“Are you satisfied?”, he asked.
In all honesty, Jurgen didn’t know what to say. Flustered, he let go of the man and watched as Jonah calmly rebuttoned his shirt.
“Well, I...”
Jonah held up a hand, waving whatever he was about to say away. “Don’t bother. I will see myself out. I know when it’s time to exit the scene.”
Jurgen could only nod as he scrambled to fix his attire. Jonah watched him with bemusement.
“God, you’ve really turned into something.”
“Huh?”
Again, that hand, waving away any of his questions. He finished adjusting his tie and stretched his shoulders.
“Don’t worry about your little library, Leitner,” he spoke, “In fact, I wish you luck in your collection. I’ll even leave your books alone this time.”
Jurgen frowned deeply, slightly alarmed. “What do you mean this time?”
No answer. There was never going to be an answer out of Jonah Magnus. He could only watch as the man walked away from him, the auburn hair vanishing in the blink of an eye.
Jurgen Leitner was sure this man was going to be the death of him.