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Why Must I Be an Incubus in Love?	By : writearts2 Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 1362 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Orlando Bloom. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Why Must I Be an Incubus in Love?
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
Summary: Orlando 1st person POV. AU headspace. Overall: What happens when a centuries old incubus falls in love with a common man who reminds him of someone he once held special? First chapter summary: Meet Orlando Bloom. This lowly incubus who achieved human form now wants to share his story with you… the story of his life with Viggo.

Contents: Flirting… lots of groundwork to establish before the slash. Deliberate tense shifts.

Mild Warning: If you hold strong traditional religious beliefs parts of this story might offend you. Just wanted to throw that out there.

**************

A computer is so amazing. I know as a tool it’s merely a means to an end but the thing still fascinates me. Why I resisted purchasing one of these electronic marvels for so long mystifies me. Now I adore this glowing box and all the mysteries rolling within its confines. True the web delights aren’t actually inside but… oh you know what I mean.

I just finished reading incubus websites. I love the ultra-religious sites with all their hysterical declarations of faith. Go ahead, try and force me away all you want. Holy water and chants won’t help you now!

After reading all the hilarious nonsense I want to tell everyone a story.

Please don’t think me egotistical but I feel my own story is quite fascinating. Come now, how can you resist an incubus’ tale? You know you can’t. My mentor Satan made sure of that special detail.

Ahh, but that was before. I’m different now, far more different than I ever imagined.

The tale I’ll tell concerns the event that slammed shut the eternal chronicle on my hybrid years. I use that term "hybrid" because back in 1221 I enjoyed true basic humanity for 25 brief years. After enduring disgusting years as an incubus I, erm, appropriated my current comely human shape in 1432 so I am hardly like the ancients drifting around since Sumerian times. Trust me, those brooding dark creatures make this incubus look angelic.

Ahem, ex-incubus, remember? Silly boy.

Still, in my hybrid phrase I could appear frightening but only if pushed too hard. During my hybrid years I tried fitting in. I appreciated humans. Since initially I had been human I understood their many quirks and foibles. To me having human form was a blessing. How I maintained my body was not; well, to be honest I did enjoy the fleshy aspects. Nothing matched holding a sex-dripping boy close and biting off just a little of his life force. Mmm.

Now demons, well, yes I also understand them but bah, I detest them. What is there to like about a cranky fire demon? Setting fires for fun seems ever so wicked. And believe me, fallen angels turned incubi are simply dreary. They always rant on about how much they missed Heaven and plot on how to regain their grace. I suppose being cast out did nothing for their self-confidence. Since I had never experienced Heaven I don’t know if being cast out proved horrible beyond belief or if they merely exaggerated.

I think those winged egotists exaggerated just to make me feel depressed.

What else should you know about me before I tell you my tale? Surprise, I had been, well, still am, an arts devotee. I couldn’t create high art but in my hybrid state I loved posing for artists. Intriguing artists and sculptors fascinated me and let’s face it, their souls tasted clever and smart. I’d like to sound important and claim that hmm, the third being on the left from God in the Sistine Chapel’s "The Last Judgment" was modeled after me but alas, I’d be lying because I never did meet the complex Michelangelo. The divine Leonardo sketched me a few times but he always tore up the drawings, claiming me too beautiful to be correctly captured on paper. How sweet of him.

However my face does appear in a few minor Botticelli oil sketches. Poor Sandro never got around to completing the ones featuring my beautiful face since instead of modeling in a serious manner I frequently seduced him into bed. Sandro’s spirit tasted so sweet and light. I truly cherished his spirit so I stole only a few days from his savory soul.

The talented Caravaggio had adored my long, lean body. I inspired my wild painter to study light and shadow; isn’t that so perfect? After I dallied with him for years I decided my wanton boldness might be my undoing so I contented myself to model for schools and small classes. The tactic worked. It would prove bizarre if my lovely face, which I humbly regard as unforgettable, appeared in too many major artist’s works over a few hundred years span. All right, I confess I resurfaced to model for a few of the Symbolist painters since my slim, sleek form drove them wild. I can confidently point out my body in a few epic Gustav Moreau paintings. And modeling for Modigliani hardly put me at risk since he distorted everything so severely.

In reality I didn’t need to model at all; during those days my comfortable wealth hid and multiplied in various elder banks. Now I’m exceedingly rich. But even after all those years I still loved the attention. And modeling had been a pleasant way to seek out tasty young male snacks.

When I discovered I could feed on human energy without direct mouth to mouth contact the knowledge brightened my hybrid life. Close-packed gay dance clubs were just made for an incubus. Once on the dance floor I used to strip off my shirt and massage my naked flesh against the other pretty, sweaty bodies. The sweltering atmosphere masked my feeding. I suppose the less trashed ones suddenly felt oddly tired but I knew the blasted beauties never realized I touched them. Seconds of their life power sucked into my flesh and nourished my ancient human body. I thought feeding from many quite… humane of me. Far better than selecting one helpless beauty and draining him into death.

Crowded rush hour subways had once provided me with another fleshy banquet, especially in the summer when humans bared their bodies before the oppressive heat. I remember dreamily wandering from car to car and brushing against what damp flesh offered itself to me. Sometimes the different flavors and textures almost intoxicated me. But I hated touching a sick person. Highly offensive. Three years ago in a moment of pity I overloaded one dreadfully sick boy until he’d fainted. I knew he’d be taken to the hospital. Brr, the cancer eating him had tasted cruel and bitter. Poor lad.

Usually I stole just enough to keep myself beautiful and whole. I never acted greedy. Yet during my hybrid phase my ancient body slowly began breaking down. Unfortunately as the years passed I needed to steal more and more energy. Keeping my human body alive and whole for hundreds of years had proved challenging but I adored this handsome lithe body. Yes, Timothy Hewitt’s body had been very good to lowly Orlando of Canterbury, who was first a naïve, illiterate and illegitimate layman at St Augustine’s Abbey, then an angry night demon, then a… true supernatural citizen of the advancing world. I became enlightened and willing to face changes with an open mind even if the effort often exhausted me.

I’ll let you guess what I have finally become.

Yes, during those years I became so adept at feeding in unique ways that I only consumed an entire life force perhaps three, well, be truthful; five times a year. Come on, at least I acted damned moral about my victims. In New York City my old feed of choice had been the cruel pimps I saw abusing their helpless girls. Bullies. I had no problem devouring their souls. Unfortunately they felt nasty and small but still, a soul was a soul. They let me live on as human. Back then I feared that if I surrendered this fine body I’d be tossed back into the random chaos, bah, again forced to endure being at the beck and call of sorcerers.

I’d rather just dissolve into nothingness.

Actually I did and I didn’t. But that’s a story for later.

So enough about me and… why let’s hear more about me. Nothing wrong with a healthy ego, correct?

Hold on. I’m starting off my story with an evil teaser. Would you expect anything less from me?

MARCH 2004

I numbly stared down at the wounded body cradled in my bloodstained arms.

This time I thought my special love wouldn’t end in tragedy. By the Darkness, I never envisioned anything this horrible, this disgustingly final. What was I supposed to do now?

My furious glare skewered up into the watchful heavens swirling darkly above me. "Does this inane cruelty make you happy up there? How can you be so damned blind? Haven’t I endured enough?"

Obviously not.

A heart which hadn’t felt such agony in ages creaked under my sorrowful burden and spasmed in vivid grief; yes, Hades, painful thick acid flowed inside me, dripping, devouring, destroying me. What now? What could I do for my beloved Viggo?

Oh Viggo, you sweet, dear man, why didn’t you let me protect you?

*********

SEVEN MONTHS EARLIER: SEPTEMBER, 2003

Ahh, New York in September. This ever-pulsing insane city proved perfect for a beautiful incubus hybrid.

Feeling lighthearted on this superb late summer day I smiled at the scurrying people and entered the fine arts studio complex. Since this was my first day modeling at Parsons I was given an identity badge and directed up to the proper floor. The department secretary greeted me and told me I could change into my robe in the one small office. I still held a little medieval modesty within me. I didn’t like entering the studio stark naked.

Mmm, look at all these young creatures, tender, full of crackling life and packaged so creatively in everything from gothic black, vivid magenta and electric green. Delicious. Happily today I felt sated since last night I went out clubbing and fed in my highly physical manner. My body still tingled in satisfaction.

As the students prepared I chatted with serious young drawing professor Brian about ideas for the class. Since most of the students were freshmen we decided to begin with the tried and tested fast minute poses. Fair enough. Once everyone settled in with their newsprint pads I perched on the central platform and dropped my short red silk robe. My tall slim body worked through my standard battery of elegant poses. All eyes fixed on me in varying degrees of interest; both male and female gazes examined me with more than artistic interest. Sorry, ladies, I never developed a taste for you. Consider that a blessing. I casually glanced over the bowed heads and smiled. Mmm, a few young men looked so nourishing. Potential snacks surrounded me.

What the… a sudden loud, obnoxious noise directly about my head made my relaxed body jerk in surprise. Memories of evil bombs blossoming over London blazed into my startled mind. Ahh, a large overhead spotlight had given up. The failure left my body half lit only by the late summer sun. Fitting.

Brian rolled his green eyes and swiftly marched to the studio phone. After he slammed down the receiver he clapped his hands. "All right, people, take a break. The head janitor is on his way so hopefully this stupid problem shouldn’t take long."

Instead of leaving I stretched out on the wooden platform and relaxed my body. Mmm, I fell to reminiscing about a pretty young boy in London whom I shared a bomb shelter with one dangerous night. I believe his name had been Nicholas…mmm, I remember his spring-like flavor…

A metallic echoy rattle caught my attention. I casually opened my eyes.

I almost shrieked in amazement.

No.

Stephan? But… oh. Impossible. How… Hades!

My wide eyes blinked in frightened confusion. I knew I stared but I couldn’t halt myself. My gaze drank in the aquiline, high-cheekboned face surrounded by carelessly styled sandy blonde hair gently curling just below a sharp jawline. Yes, my eyes drank in Stephan’s precious face and hair yet 20 extra years now sculpted the lean flesh. Elegant lines and subtle crevices carved into this man’s glorious face, they singing to me of experience and past regrets. His face, ahh, somewhere a sullen angel wondered why he lacked perfect features. This fair mortal surely had robbed Heaven’s jealously guarded warehouse. He looked too fine to be true.

Just like my selfish Stephan.

By the Black Pits, by some bizarre quirk the college janitor looked exactly like the betraying lover who initially plunged my soul into the foul darkness. But... I laid there and watched as he climbed up the chattering metal ladder and quickly repaired the blown lightbulb. Yes, there was something fitting about him repairing the light shining down on me. Look at me.

Look at me, handsome one.

Now.

The man adjusted the bulb’s strong rays and glanced down at me. He froze. I saw his left hand quickly clutch the ladder. I swiftly drew back my wicked allure: I didn’t want the poor dear to fall!

Our gazes meshed, tangoed and built a definite sensual tangle. Unlike Stephan this male’s wide, light blue-gray gaze held no lazy, greedy sexuality. No, this man appeared honest and grounded. I read no guile, sensed no true sin, felt no guilt.

Well, running his sharp gaze over my body in a truly appreciatory fashion might count as sin: yes, lust, anyone? How pleasant. I stretched a bit and offered the janitor a seductive smile.

To my satisfaction the handsome man blinked in open surprise then he darted me a fast wink. After adjusting the lightbulb he scrambled back to the floor and folded the ladder. Never had such a simple act looked so erotic.

Could I do this… concentrate… yes! I snatched his name from his soul vibration… Viggo. Such an odd name. Since my interest felt wetly aroused I shifted, propped my supine weight on my forearms and maintained my steady appraisal. Extraordinary. My eyes savored the broad shoulders and sturdy torso ever so slightly defeated by his middle years. A faint cuddly curve pushed gently against Viggo’s snug black T-shirt. Mmm, I wanted to lick his soft little belly, yes, nuzzle and bite his yielding flesh until my janitor suffered endless pleasure. Yet Viggo’s firm chest and impressive upper arms’ muscular grace also teased my senses. Somehow this sexy man looked comforting, confident and content with himself.

Viggo made me want to roll over and beg him to show me his sexual skills. I felt like a randy demon bitch in high heat. Damn, this man opened my pores into gaping mouths. My skin almost flowed from my body and caressed his delightful form, yes, I wanted to coat him in me.

Odd. Why was Viggo a janitor? I felt something far more intense stirring in his open soul. Mmm. I wondered what he tasted like; I imagined he tasted superb. I couldn’t wait to decant him.

Brian thanked Viggo. My hearing strained to catch a complete name. Drat, nothing came to me. Of course why would Brian know Viggo’s last name? My mature beauty was merely the janitor who fixed blown lightbulbs, not a fellow professor.

By Abigor, I needed a last name to go with that all too familiar face. Stephan’s had been Dreyer.

Brian opened the door for Viggo and his ladder. Before the object of my silky lust left Viggo quickly glanced back at me. My finest smile, and it was a wonderful smile, floated his way.

As he exited through the studio door Viggo winked again and quickly offered me a coy little salute. The door closed behind his firm ass. His powerful thighs turned his khaki work trousers into a declaration of sex.

Oh yes, Hades, I wanted this Viggo.

Badly.

After class ended I almost tracked down the handsome handyman but instead I returned to my spacious loft tucked away in Alphabet City. I had lived in the large, well appointed space for five years and thought if I let myself age a bit I could remain there for perhaps 20, 25 more years. Call me vain but I hated letting my skin amass subtle wrinkles and decay. Yet I felt so weary of moving around all the time. Now I wanted to stay and experience a more stable life.

Currently appearing around 27 suited me. Young enough to be desirable yet old enough not to be taken too lightly. Beside, I was used to my true physical age. When I occupied dear Timothy’s body he had been 26 so everything worked out with supreme ease.

As my brain toyed with my random thoughts I stripped off my clothing and began pacing. My naked soles danced back and forth along the highly finished wooden floor. Who was this special janitor? How could Viggo look so much like my decadent Stephan? Ahh, Stephan, my greedy Nordic lover who decided I was easily expendable.

Now, Orlando, don’t act petulant; not expendable but more ahh, yes, sacrificial proved a better word. When the Abbot caught the highly-regarded young monk merrily rutting with the comely layman of course said monk pointed the finger at me and declared me unholy. Carnal seducer! I suddenly turned into a rogue monster out to infect the Holy Church with my wanton ways. How quaint. Until sweet Stephan showed me the lovely basics I had no idea that a man’s cock could actually fit into another male’s body.

Dear, deceptive Stephan’s powerful father was a Bishop so my lecherous, treacherous monk already knew how to escape a dangerous fate. Deflect and accuse. Point and denounce. If I had dallied with Brother Damian no one would have cared since the simple youth wasn’t positioned to be Abbot. Silly me.

I snarled in annoyance. These bloody memories always made me feel extremely cranky.

Yes, I had been a young, smitten, stupid layman. After the abbot ordered me whipped 50 times before the entire monastic population add monumentally angry to that list. During my radical punishment I had the audacity to curse the smug Abbot to eternal damnation. My passionate ranting had gained me 50 extra lashings. I didn’t care since I only knew I felt my betrayed heart breaking over and over again.

In my case a breaking heart proved most accurate. Who knew that my supposedly strong young body contained a terribly weak heart? Nothing like childhood neglect to injure a growing heart, eh? Bah, since my deranged jilted Mother viewed me as original sin she often starved me. Those 50 extra stripes ripping across my writhing flesh abruptly pushed me right into Lord Death’s waiting hands. And I went screaming, snarling and furiously cursing the damned Church and all its hypocritical faults. Lord Deaths’ embrace had felt so lovely.

I proved perfect demon material. After Lord Death assessed my place in eternity the sly Devil examined my unruly young soul, stroked me, nurtured me then he unleashed me on the world as a lowly carnal incubus. That detail always confused me. An incubus supposedly preyed on women. I appreciated males.

That subtle cosmic joke always escaped me. But there I dwelled, drifting through the cosmos, sent to prey on men by causing them horrible nightmares and evil visions. I desperately tried blocking that time from my waking mind since back then I possessed no true will of my own. Yes I was a demon but an incubus is as low as a stupid demon can go. I had been a helpless servant! I mean a clever witch would procure me to curse someone whom she felt deserved my special charms. Since I could not refuse I did her bidding. More than one tainted holy man unleashed me after youths who spurred their sexual advances. I had truly hated being a demon. Although angry and bitter I still proved too gentle and trusting to behave in the proper dreadful manner. What a farce.

Then came Timothy and his curious partner, they playing with dark forces best left alone. Still, daily I thanked them for their intellectual curiosity. Summoning demons, well, they could have dredged up far worse than an IQ-challenged incubus who hovered close to their incantations. I felt their summons and rode down the chant into physical salvation.

Since poor Timothy had recited the summoning spell he couldn’t refuse my spiritual attack. Beside, he was so beautiful, yes, dark and slender, so like my initial body except his skin glowed swarthy instead of pale. Once I occupied Timothy my features actually shifted to my own. Nice to have my lovely human face back. His partner in crime didn’t appeal to me in the least so sadly he became my first human meal.

So suddenly there I was, an incubus inhabiting a human body. I didn’t destroy Timothy but I merged, yes, I somehow assimilated with him. How fun; the ignorant demon knew how to write. I spoke three languages. I possessed family wealth. But maintaining my lovely young body proved no small feat. I instinctively knew I needed human life force, or, essence, soul, bah, call it what you will, to remain intact.

By Satan’s Balls enough flicking through my eventful past. Come on, you fool, try and focus on the current problem! Mmm, yes, a provocative problem named Viggo.

Another series of long-limbed strides brought me back to my spartan kitchen. Time for wine. I still enjoyed the brew’s rich soothing qualities. Good, ahh, bottle of fine dark red hid under the sink. Needless to say the kitchen wasn’t exactly a heavily visited part of my loft. When I first purchased the place I almost ignored installing the necessary items but one must follow appearances, right? Before I seduced a carefully chosen male up to my loft I always I purchased a few treats to take up space in the normally empty refrigerator. What need did I have for normal food? Beside, my body had gone without for so long that digesting anything but the smallest amounts made me feel like imps ripped my belly to shreds. Not pleasant.

As I sipped from my glass my thoughtful pacing continued. I always had a devil, ahem, of a time remaining still. Very well, the next class met on Thursday, two days from now. Before class I would learn more about this ridiculously desirable janitor. Was this Viggo a light snack or a potential romantic problem? I avoided long-term relations like the plague. The logistics just proved too tiresome. "Sorry, darling, I must go kill someone tonight." Bah.

So think carefully, Orlando. Remember, this man might have betrayed you.

And could he do it again?

That bleak thought called for another glass of wine.

TBC
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Why Must I Be an Incubus in Love?