The Minnaar

The stars winked above him without consideration for those existing below them. His eyes had just flashed open, though he almost wished he could continue the peculiar version of slumber. Kramer hated dying, no matter how many times it happened, but coming back always sharpened the bluntness of his pains.

"Alright," he mumbled.

Sitting up was easier just after a resurrection, his joints somehow more lubricated and less damaged. The pain of where he'd been attacked was always worse than when he was dying from whatever injury.

"Okay."

He stood on shaky legs. Another strange thing. There was the old exhilaration, but it wasn't exactly like the first time. His mind searched for that. Had it been 1952 or was it '62? The lack of surety always caused a minute or two of frustration. It helped take his mind off the internal daggers of healing. At least there was that.

Kramer's shirt was tattered. Blood stained the blue dye changing the surrounding areas to a sort of purple haze. He had to chuckle at that. He'd loved that album when it first came out. Purple Haze was immortal, the strings of Hendrix's guitar lashing out at a world not quite ready for his strange genius.

Immortal.

Like him.

He thought that was the case, anyway.

"Hey," a voice came from somewhere behind him, "You okay, man?"

"Yeah," Kramer answered without turning.

"You sure? You aren't hurt?"

"Only my pride."

Scuffling footsteps. The good Samaritan was coming in for a closer look. Kramer still didn't turn. He knew what was coming, didn't care to over-analyze the thing. Part of him, a very old part, felt bad.

"You got some blood on you, man."

A teenage voice. It was strange to think of where teenage voices came from. He didn't like to think about it. He let his mind drift away from the thing. He let one of those old songs from Purple Haze slip into his thoughts, the almost raging guitar filling his head. The footsteps were closer. He could sense the hand moving toward his shoulder.

"Don't," he said.

The word was so quiet that the kid could not have possibly heard it. Kramer wondered if he'd ever said it loud enough to really give a warning or if it was just his way of justifying what came next. He ignored the wondering and waited.

Fingers gripping his shoulder, causing bright spots to flicker across his vision. There was a voice there, one telling him that he didn't have to do it this way, that the kid was trying to help him and didn't deserve what was next. Same old fight. His right hand moved from his side, reaching across the vanished holes in his torso and toward the kid's hand. His mind screamed.

He's too young! You can't! You can't do this to him!

Kramer could feel the youth coming off the kid, the vitality, the strength. It wouldn't take much more than a caress of fingertips to make his pain go away. It could all be fine in less than a second if he would just touch the skin so close to his own.

"Fuck off," Kramer spat.

His hand jerked back to the area near his hip. His fingers balled into fists as the kid flinched away. Kramer closed his eyes, the crow's feet deepening at their corners. The kid stepped backward.

"Nice guy, man. Just wanted to make sure you're okay. Should've kept walking."

Kramer nodded his agreement, somehow finding the urge to limp away. The kid was right, and the kid was lucky that he'd found some kind of self-control. He hadn't always been very good at that.

A vibration tingled against his thigh. Great. The mugger had shot him four times and stolen his wallet but missed the cell phone. Kramer would have been far happier if he'd taken everything. He reached into his pocket, feeling the stretch against slowly healing skin. If he hadn't been such a softy, the pain would have been a thing of the past. Like his pride.

The screen was cracked in a thousand places. Correction on the mugger. He'd just left the phone because it was a broken piece of shit with spider web fractures lacing its surface. A distorted version of McEntire's name waited for him to answer.

"Hello?"

"Kramer? You sound like hell, buddy. Where you at?"

He was supposed to be there already, was already running late, and was taking a shortcut through Williams Park to make up a few minutes when he'd been delayed. Kramer looked down at his shirt, wished he had a spare or something. His eyes flashed along the border of the grassy area and landed on a convenience store that sold everything from cigarettes to hair nets. He'd be able to find something to wear there.

"On my way," he answered, his feet moving him toward the storefront.

"Well, hurry up. I'm already two drinks ahead of you and I'm lining up some... prospects."

Kramer couldn't help grinning. If there was anyone he could count on to get the ball rolling on a long and exhausting night with new friends, it was McEntire.

"Give me ten."

***

The place wasn't quite a bar. It seemed more like an adult version of that place parents always took kids for birthdays. Charlie Cheddar's? No. That wasn't right. He searched the crowd for McEntire, knowing it would be tough to find his friend in the mix of the place.

There were lights everywhere. Neon and digital. Screens of badly maintained arcade games flashed the images coveted by geek-hipsters everywhere. Bells rang from the skee-ball lanes and pinball machines. The only thing that could possibly cause over-stimulation in a place like this one was shouting at him from across the bar.

"Kramer! Hey! Over here!"

Kramer got his second grin of the night, thinking that a voice that could crawl above the throngs of chatter in a place like this one would never need a microphone. He turned in the direction from which it had come. There she was.

McEntire wasn't tall by any means, but she still managed to stand out. She was doing just that next to a pool table, her crewcut glistening against the tan skin of her scalp. She wore painted-on black jeans with rips in the thighs and knees, red suspenders over a white t-shirt that could have brought more attention to her monstrously over-sized breasts if she'd decided to cut exit holes in the thing, and the ever present Chuck Taylors to match her eyes. Neon green.

McEntire was a knockout, though one that would confuse most men if she cared to keep one around.

Kramer seemed her opposite. He was tall and well-built, attractive in most eyes, but there was no real flare of fashion. He was still wearing the Lucky Brand jeans he'd been killed in so recently, but he'd traded out the badly damaged blue shirt for a gray V-neck right out of the package. He wore heavy brown boots instead of his usual flip-flops to account for the January chill in the air.

They were a pair that often drew confused glances. They drew another as McEntire pulled him in for an uncomfortably passionate kiss as soon as he got close enough. Kramer felt a moment of utter mortification. He thought of the teenager that he'd almost touched, hoped that enough time had passed between his resurrection and the moment he was in. His hands automatically went to her hips when he didn't feel a change in his heartbeat.

McEntire plastered herself against him, her perfectly proportioned hips grinding into him as their tongues slid against one another.

"Did I get you hard?"

She was reaching for his crotch as she broke the kiss. He swatted her hand away, laughing all the time, and squeezed her jeans clad cheek.

"You kidding?"

Her eyes lit up, that bright green startling him in the way it always had. She glanced at the area she'd been reaching for, licked her lips, tilted her head toward the night's entertainment. There were two very attractive women leaning against the pool table behind her and Kramer knew the game right off the bat. She pushed him away an inch or two and began the introductions.

"Sadie and Annabelle. Sadie is a senior at FSU and Annabelle is some chick that I met in the bathroom that won't leave because I told her you were hung like a British mule."

"A British mule?"

The two girls giggled. They were drinking pastel hued drinks from touristy glasses and it was obvious to Kramer that they weren't looking to quit the drinking any time soon. He raised light brown eyebrows at McEntire, and she raised jet black ones in return.

"You get me a drink yet?"

"Fuck, Kramer! You know you owe me a round!"

"Fair enough. One cheap beer with extra spit and a vodka of some strange sort for me. Do our new friends need a drink?"

They consented that they did almost in unison. McEntire's lips tightened against the laughter that wanted to escape. Kramer tweaked one of her nipples, taking advantage of the bralessness she loved to flaunt, and turned toward the bar. He was breathing hard, still rattled by the way McEntire attacked him. Things could have gotten seriously strange.

He waived down a bartender in hopes that he'd be able to get drinks on the way before midnight came around. One of the blondes working the crowd of twenty-somethings held up an index finger with hardly a glance his way. He knew this one, had chatted with her a few times when the place hadn't been so full of Friday night idiocy. Amber? Amanda? He thought it was Amber.

"What can I get you?" she asked, finally breaking away from the group of barely legal patrons down the bar.

"Blue Moon, two rum punches, and a Tito's on ice."

"On ice? You mean on the rocks?"

She was smiling at him, pausing for effect. Kramer shook his head in return, some watery memory of a girl in a bar where none of the music was digital and the newest video game out was Ms. Pac Man sliding across his mind. He could only smile in return at first.

"Ice is more my speed. Rocks taste like shit."

A laugh. A twirl of blonde ponytail and she was busying herself with the drinks. He took a second to stare at her ass without making it too obvious. In St. Pete the bartenders were usually gorgeous and Amber/Amanda was no exception.

He was always like this right after. He hated the feeling. He loved the feeling. He would have to be careful to take the little sips from whoever he was with. Otherwise his appetite would be lethal. Kramer knew how to do it, how to practice self-control, but it was far more difficult right after one of his little deaths. There was bound to be a big death somewhere along the line, had to be. A man couldn't walk the world forever.

Amber/Amanda was back with the drinks, that long blonde hair still swinging from its restraint. She had brown eyes and perfect white teeth. He could have stared at her all night but chose to turn away after telling her to keep the tab open. There would surely be more time to talk on another night.

"About time, man. The fuck were you doing up there?"

McEntire slipped her arm around his waist, peeked at the bar, looked up at him with a grin as she clinked her glass of Belgium wheat against those containing rum runners. Her fingers were snaking into his waistband as she talked. Kramer never minded the girl's advances, nor did he mind their extracurricular fun after a night out, but they always held to their friendship. He wouldn't allow things to go past physical fun and McEntire fully agreed. She was more into the fairer sex for such things anyway.

"You know we're all going home after this one," she told him between long sips of Blue Moon.

"Nope. I want one or two more. I'm way behind."

"Really? You're going to refuse a four-way with me and two bimbos so that you can swill vodka in a fucking arcade?"

"Nope. I'm simply delaying so that I can procure the proper amount of lubrication."

There was more laughter and another private toast. Kramer found his gaze switching from the two new girls to the barely covered set of tits at his side. He needed the time, the drink, so that he could control himself. If he didn't calm down...

***

"Gonna grab a shower," Kramer said once they'd managed to get everyone into McEntire's apartment.

"Didn't take one at home? That's dirty, Kramer. What if I'd try to drag you to the bathroom? You know I hate stinky dick."

The girls laughed from their seats on the couch. Sadie? Annabelle? He thought that was right.

"I wouldn't have let you. I don't put out in arcades."

McEntire followed him, her hand patting his ass more deeply with every step. She was still talking, laughing, and causing him physical distress even as he got his hand on the bathroom knob. They both went inside, Kramer being forced ahead, to the parting giggles of their company.

She leaned against the door as he stripped the t-shirt and jeans away, her eyes tracing him. Kramer could see himself in the mirror over the sink. He was fit and well-tanned, his body still holding the form of long-ago youth. His prick was strikingly hard and pointed outward in an obvious exclamation. McEntire moved toward him, saying something about not being able to resist.

They were kissing again, his naked body pressed against her clothed one and the starkness of their contrast was startling in the brightness of bathroom mirror lights. Her hand was between them, coaxing him further toward a brink he wasn't ready to hit. He tried to step away, tried to keep the next thing from happening.

"You have to stop for a minute," he gasped between kisses, "It's not safe."

"You sure?"

He felt her suspenders fall away between them. The sound of a zipper and the shoving down of rough denim. Kramer hadn't noticed that McEntire had gotten out of her shoes, but the puddle around her feet and the ease with which it disappeared proved the fact. She was pulling him toward her as she backed up to the sink. Her legs spread as he pulled her up and onto the cool marble counter.

"I died tonight," he told her, hoping that it would stop her.

"You can hold back."

"I don't... I don't think I can."

The necking was getting out of hand. Kramer wanted to step away, to get a shower and then take the risk with either of the two blondes before taking his turn with McEntire. He wanted those things almost as much as he wanted the bottomless girl pulling his cock into her. The feeling of slipping into her was the same as it always was. Amazing.

His hips thrust on their own. Her hips countered. He had to be careful. Rough hands gripped the spot where her legs met hips and his thumbs cradled there as he pressed deeper, pulled deeper. The clamping came next as McEntire gave him her first orgasm, spasming and gripping him in a natural vice.

"Don't stop," she spat, her lips close to his ear, her arms wrapping around his neck as her ankles crossed at his waist.

"Have to," he felt it coming, the warmth spreading from his chest and up to his neck.

Kramer opened his eyes at once, saw the glow in them and the red aura beginning to emanate from his flesh. He had to stop. This wasn't going to be a little sip if he kept going. His thighs tensed as he changed the angle of his thrusts to an upward bent, hoping that he'd be able to hit the right spot, hoping that he'd be able to stop McEntire from continuing.

Teeth gripped his shoulder and he wondered if she could taste the warmth spreading across his upper body. He felt her wonderful breasts pressing against his chest, the nipples so hard it was almost painful not to pull on them.

"Oh, no. Don't you... Fuck me, Kramer!"

He knew by the volume that it would end soon. There would be a few moments of reprieve. Sounds of cheering from the living room. Sadie and Annabelle. They were giggling and shouting as he hooked his arms under McEntire's knees. He lifted her a few inches, just enough to give her a few last thrusts. At once he felt her hands part from his neck, saw them brace the counter behind her. Her thinly veiled breasts thrust out and he leaned toward them, biting a nipple through the t-shirt to move things further along.

Kramer had no idea how many times she'd come, but when he finally pulled away, breath spearing in and out of him just as he'd been spearing in and out of her, McEntire didn't object. It was far more difficult to pull away than normal. He felt that magnetism. Just after death, within minutes of it, a touch would have been enough to drain someone. Hours later, it was less dangerous. After he calmed down again, got a drink and talked for a bit, he might be able to sip without fear.

The glow only happened when he was close to a full drink and McEntire would never be the victim of that. He couldn't allow it. They'd come way too close

"Jesus," McEntire whispered, a smile of satisfaction on her face, "I need to catch you right after every time."

"Bite me."

"Already did."

"I'm getting a shower. Go entertain our guests."

She stood on wobbly legs, glanced at her discarded jeans, and flashed another grin his way. McEntire pulled the t-shirt down a bit, barely covering her ass. She walked out that way and cheers from their guests followed. Kramer shook his head, amused and scared.

Too close.

He showered until the hot water ran out.

***

The little sip. He awoke with the feeling of it in his skin. There had been a time when he'd had no idea what to call the things he did, but a writer had given him the words in the early nineties. The little sip was what The Vampire Lestat called his feeding on people without them knowing it. He wasn't necessarily a vampire, not in the way most people would think of it, but to stay young and to heal after a little death required a sort of feeding.

Kramer looked to either side of him, found the large bed occupied by two sleeping girls. A snippet of memory came to him from only hours before. Annabelle laying back beside him on the bed, their lips and tongues entwined as McEntire tasted her.

He could almost feel Sadie grinding against him, her young body moving with a strange sexual grace as the glow began. It didn't cover him with warmth as it almost had. He knew from experience that the glow was only happening behind his closed eyelids. There had been a shuffling of bodies, a tongue rushing across his perineum and Annabelle climbing up until his tongue could be put to proper use.

That's when the sip had finally happened, when he was touching all three of them. He'd held out for that moment as well as he could, feeling bits of their energy siphon into him with every position, from every movement. His tongue slid across Annabelle's lips as a tiny piece of her soul slid into him. His prick stole a moment of Sadie's life as she spread her legs further apart to feel him in a deeper place. His pleasure took a few breaths from McEntire's lungs.

Kramer slipped from the bed, careful to leave the sleeping girls in peace. He left the room without covering himself, bare feet touching cool white tile. McEntire would be in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of over-strong coffee and possibly a cigarette. She only smoked occasionally, and it was usually after they'd had a wild night.

The smell of an unfiltered camel greeted him along with the sight he'd been expecting. McEntire hadn't bothered with clothing either

"Coffee?"

"Coffee."

"Ciggy?"

Kramer stared at the unfiltered smoke, debated, nodded as he went for a mug. She passed him the half-cigarette and reached for her own mug. He poured coffee and leaned back next to her without another word. They smoked the cigarette, passing it back and forth until the thing was down to a nub of fire.

"You were fucking intense last night," she finally spoke.

"I told you. Died in the park."

"I could have a weirder roommate, I guess."

"Could you?"

"Maybe. You could be a clown or something."

"An actor."

"A dancer."

"Are you saying that I can't dance?"

McEntire grinned up at him. Kramer looked down at her with an open expression, trying not to stare at her body as directly as he wanted to. She moved her chest back and forth, causing a lot of pleasant things to happen.