The inside of the building was stifling. Too many people in a confined space, drinking and dancing and yelling over the music. It was the last place you’d want to be wearing unnecessary layers, let alone have something covering your face... which was unfortunate, as the party was supposed to be a masquerade. Ambrosia wasn’t sure who the host was — the friend of a friend of a friend — but clearly they’d decided that a normal costume party would be too bland.

Ambrosia wasn’t a wallflower by any means, but she had reason to stay off to the side for now. She was waiting for someone. So, she found a couch left vacant and had fun watching everything around her. The house was more akin to a mansion, but the party was mostly contained to the sizeable main floor and the enormous backyard. Ambrosia could say without a doubt the couch was the most comfortable thing she’d ever sat on.

“I think...” a familiar voice spoke, approaching her without hesitation and taking a seat close beside her. “You got stood up.”

The person approaching Ambrosia was an old friend, Charlotte, who handed her a can of soda. It was more than welcome in the heat of the room.

“No, I’m sure he’s just late.” She didn’t have to look at Charlotte to know the brunette wasn’t fooled. She could picture the steady brown eyes assessing her, a look she was very familiar with.

“He’s always late, Ambrosia. Or cancelling, or ‘rescheduling,’ or just not showing up and making up some excuse after.”

“They aren’t excuses.” They’d had this argument so many times before. It wasn’t even particularly heated anymore, just a routine. “He has a very demanding job. He tries his best, but sometimes things are just out of his hands. He was honest about that before we were even serious.”

“Right, and... what’s that job again? You always use that excuse —”

“Not an excuse.”

“But you never say what he does.” Charlotte didn’t seem fazed by the interruption.

Ambrosia swept some of her auburn hair out of her face, wincing as the mask pulled at it. She’d chosen something cheap and simple that only went around her eyes. Charlotte had done the opposite, choosing to wear a cowl with a mask that covered everything under her eyes.

“It’s entirely too warm in here.” Ambrosia sighed, tugging at the gloves of her ‘costume.’ Really, it was just stuff from her closet. A long, fancy dress and long gloves. She thought it suited the masquerade theme, and the black dress went well with the white mask and gloves. She had to bunch the dress up a bit in order to make a quick escape before Charlotte could protest. Dress in one hand, soda in the other, she wove through the obstacle course of the dance floor in a precarious attempt to get to the sliding glass doors without spilling her drink or getting crushed.

Successfully escaping the house, she finished her soda quickly and tossed it in the recycling bin. The chill of an October night was a welcome change from the stifling heat of the party, and the yard was beautiful. Despite the night, the lights placed along the stone pathways illuminated the colored leaves of the trees. Ambrosia took a deep breath of the fresh air, and began to walk one of the pathways.

The further she wandered from the house, the fewer party-goers were wandering about. She didn’t want to stray too far, however, so she stopped once she found an unnecessarily ornate bench down the path. It seemed to be made of some sort of stone, with a tall back and smooth, curved arm rests. This one bench was fancier than probably anything Ambrosia owned. Still, she took a seat, sliding off her mask and wincing as the cheap elastic tugged at her hair. The mask was a last minute purchase from the dollar store. It didn’t really match her dress, but it was the only one left so close to Halloween. It was her own fault for procrastinating instead of just getting a costume together sooner.

Ambrosia sighed and let her head fall back against the back of the bench. It was fitting that the moon was shining so brightly on Halloween of all nights. She wondered, if she listened hard enough, if she could hear a distant howl...

The cawing of crows rang out suddenly beside her, startling her upright from her slump and nearly off the bench. She stared not at a murder of crows, but at gathering shadows cast by the lights. They came together, twisting around each other and finally dissipating, leaving a man in black standing where they’d been.

The man was taller than most mortal men. He had long, dark hair, dark skin, and wore mostly dark clothes. The only thing that differed was the white of his dress shirt, but even that was mostly hidden beneath a black suit jacket. The suit looked expensive, like it had been specifically tailored for him. He cut an impressive figure in the moonlight, standing straight and tall as shadows and crow feathers dissipated around his lean form. His eyes were also, unsurprisingly, solid black. He blinked, and when he opened them again they were normal brown eyes.

“You’re late, Charon,” she accused, startling the man who had appeared near her.

Charon recovered quickly and moved with grace, sitting beside her and taking one of her gloved hands to kiss the back of it. “My... sincerest apologies.” He lifted his head, but still held her hand. He seemed a bit nervous, but that wasn’t anything new. She’d learned very quickly that interacting like this wasn’t something he did every day. “Work ran later than expected.”

She sighed fondly at his formal speech. With his work, he was used to being proper to a dramatic degree. She savoured the moments when he was flustered or relaxed enough to let that drop.

“Will you need to leave again soon?” She could already guess his answer when he smiled at the question.

“No. I got the rest of the night off.”

Ambrosia whistled low, sarcastically impressed, and her free hand came to her chest in mock-shock. “A whole night? But whoever will guide the souls of the damned?”

His smile grew, less nervous and more amused. “I have employees, darling. There are many reapers in existence.”

“But only one Death,” she noted, and his smile softened into something a bit more subdued.

“Yes. Only one of me.” It was silent for a moment after that. It was the comfortable kind of silence, and Ambrosia leaned against him. As usual, he was wearing a fancy black suit and gloves. Good luck trying to make Death go casual. He’d always been like that, though.

The first time she met him had only been a glimpse of a shadow at a funeral. She’d been too upset and thought maybe it was her eyes playing tricks on her, but he had later confirmed it wasn’t. Then, when she was just starting college, she had a ‘near-death-experience.’ She had died, but not for very long, though it had felt like an eternity. He’d been there. Formal and mysterious, dark and dramatic. She wasn’t scared, or even very impressed. She joked with him. She poked fun at Death Itself and then lived to never tell anyone about it. They had sat and talked, until she was dragged out of the nothingness and into an emergency room.

They got along brilliantly, they struck up a friendship, and ultimately they fell in love. The day they realized that last one was the day Ambrosia learned Death can have panic attacks. Now, he visited her whenever he could, but there were an awful lot of people dying in the world. Employees or not, it was hard for him to find time. Still, he managed it.

Ambrosia wasn’t usually sentimental or nostalgic. She wasn’t good at flowery words or romantic gestures. But as they sat there, it reminded her so much of how he’d sat with her the whole time she’d been dead. She felt a surge of affection and, without thinking, kissed him, forgetting that skin-on-skin contact was completely forbidden.

She had forgotten, pressing her lips to his. He seemed receptive for the barest fraction of a moment, then immediately went tense. A grip too strong for any normal human took hold of her shoulders and just about shoved her off. She made a small sound of surprise, then realized what she’d just done.

“I’m sorry — I wasn’t thinking —” Her face was flushing a bright red, and she felt just awful. He’d never explained the no-touching rule to her, but she’d always respected his boundaries. She felt terrible about breaking them. “I’m really, really sorry. I —”

“Are you okay?” he cut her off, voice strained and quiet. The look in his eyes was pure panic, maybe even terror. She had no idea how a kiss could frighten Death so badly.

“... Me?” Now she was just baffled. “I should be asking you that, you look really upset...”

“Upset...” He laughed shakily, like that was a ridiculous understatement. He took a breath she knew he didn’t need, steadying himself before continuing. He adjusted his gloves, then his tie, and she realized his hands were shaking. “... Ambrosia, you should be dead right now.”

“Excuse me?” The statement was so final, so certain. Why would she be dead?

“When mortals... make contact with me, skin-to-skin,” he took her hand again, glove to glove, “they die. Immediately. Just... they drop.”

“That’s why...” She didn’t need to continue. He closed his eyes, nodding. “But I feel fine.”

“Clearly.” The panic was fading, replaced with a quizzical expression. “It... may have just been a fluke?”

“That doesn’t sound like something that has ‘flukes.’” Ambrosia pursed her lips in thought for a moment. An idea occurred to her, and she resolutely removed her gloves.

“What are you doing?” The tightness in his voice told her he knew exactly what she was doing.

“Let’s try again.”

“No.”

“Please —”

“Ambrosia. Darling.” His tone was hard, more serious than she’d ever heard him, and he put both hands on her shoulders as if to hold her back, but there was no real force to them. “I am not going to be your cause of death.”

“Look, just... hear me out.” Ambrosia sighed, shoulders slumping. “If this is why we can’t touch, and it turns out it doesn’t apply to me for some reason, then we can... y’know... touch,” she explained quickly. “If it was just a fluke then... what? I die?”

“You die,” he confirmed grimly.

She didn’t feel very impressed. “You are literally Death. It’s not like you wouldn’t be able to be with me anymore.”

“Ambrosia, you have a life ahead of you.” He was trying so hard to stay calm, she could tell. His whole body was tense, his eyes watching her carefully. She was vaguely reminded of the coiled posture of snakes or cats trying to judge if they’re under threat. It was strange, seeing it from an eternal and nearly all-powerful being. “You have dreams, and potential, and a million different paths you could take. I won’t be the thing that tears all that away from you.”

“Right. Yeah.” Ambrosia brushed his hands from her shoulders easily, crossing her arms and levelling him with a thoroughly unswayed glare. “See, as sweet and dramatic as that is, my decisions are my own. If I decide this is worth it, that’s my choice. Not yours. My fault, not yours.”

“I’d be complicit —”

“I am an adult, in my right mind, telling you I’m 99% sure this is going to be fine and I just want to make it 100% sure.” She levelled him with a stern glare, determined in this matter. They stared each other down for a long moment, before she asked softly, “When’s the last time you were touched?”

That caught him off-guard. He had to think about it, and even then...

“... I can’t remember,” he sighed in defeat. “Centuries, at least.”

“And you were human once?”

“I don’t remember that life, but yes. I am... aware it existed.” He lowered his gaze, but she tilted his head back up with a hand, making him meet her eyes.

“People need touch, Charon.” She saw a shiver go through him. “And, I’m touching you right now.” She nodded at her ungloved hand, laid on his cheek and still making him look at her.

He started, but didn’t push her away this time. He was off-balance, still trembling. “... So you are.”

“Is this okay?” She tilted her head a little, concerned with how rattled he was.

“It’s fine. Just... you gave me quite the fright, earlier.” He laughed shakily, but it cut off sharply when her hand moved to run through his hair. “... And as we’ve established, it’s... been awhile.”

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” she whispered, leaning close to kiss him again. One hand came up to his shoulder, while the other moved from his hair and smoothed over the nape of his neck. She felt movement as he took off his gloves, and his hand only stopped trembling when it came up to caress her cheek gently. She wasn’t sure if he was being careful with her or if that was just how he was. Soft. Cautious. Adoring.

He broke the kiss and moved his hands to her waist as he became more sure in his movements. “Tell me if you need me to stop,” he echoed. Charon kissed her cheek sweetly, chastely, and then trailed similar kisses along her jawline.

“Trust me, Charon, this is...” She felt almost giddy, running her fingers through his long dark hair as he kissed down her neck. “This is A-okay.” Ambrosia laughed softly, and felt Charon smile against her skin. “Though, I can think of better places for this than a bench in someone’s yard.”

“Well, you could have said as much sooner.” Charon pulled away just enough to lead her into moving, gently ushering her to stand.

“I was distracted,” Ambrosia replied cheekily, causing Death to roll his eyes as the sound of crows surrounded them. Her vision went dark. For just a moment, she was floating, nowhere and everywhere all at once. Then she felt hardwood floor beneath her feet, and a cushioned bed pressing against the back of her knees. Her vision was the last sense to return, and she recognized her bedroom immediately.

“Better?”

When she looked at her companion, the jacket of his suit was gone. She glanced around, seeing it hung by the bedroom door. Stupid magic boyfriend. “Much.” She tugged him down by his tie, delighting in the sound of surprise that was muffled by the kiss. There was nothing chaste about the way she kissed him, though the adoration was there all the same. She felt his arms wrap around her as the heat of the kiss engulfed them both, and his hands just wouldn’t stay still.

His arms slid from holding her close, his hands falling to her hips. Palms flat, gloves long gone, he slid his hands slowly up her sides, indulging in a way he hadn’t been able to in thousands of years. She moaned when they finally reached her breasts, but they didn’t linger long. They slipped around to the back of her dress, long fingers not touching the zipper. He merely skated his fingers down her back, and the zipper undid itself at his will. Stupid. Magic. Boyfriend.

“May I?” He pulled away from the kiss, not out of breath as she was, as he didn’t need to breathe. His hands waited at the shoulders of her dress, hesitating.

“Hell yes. ” No sooner had she said it than the dress had hit the floor, pooling at her feet. She kicked the old thing out of the way, her hands occupied trying to unbutton his shirt.

“You know, I could just —”

“Don’t you dare.” She glared up at him before turning her attention back to the buttons. She made quick work of them, though not as fast as magic. She ran her hands up his bare chest and pushed the shirt out of the way and over his shoulders. She felt him shudder under her touch, and it equal parts thrilled and worried her. The shirt, unlike her dress, disappeared before it could hit the floor. It simply didn’t exist anymore. When she finally looked up at him again, his eyes seemed almost glazed over. She reached up to put a hand on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, kissed the palm of her hand, and she mentally cursed how much of an adorable sap he was.

“You sure you’re okay? I mean, thousands of years... I don’t know how it works, but I don’t want to... I dunno, shock your system or anything.” Ambrosia shrugged, having no idea how Death’s ‘system’ worked.

Death laughed gently. “I don’t technically have a ‘system.’ I’m pretty much just an ethereal being using magic to create a physical form for us both to enjoy.”

She nodded, as if that sentence was totally normal and made sense.

Charon took a breath, before elaborating. “It’s... a bit overwhelming, I won’t lie, but not in a bad way. Now, would you kindly lie down? There’s something I’d very much like to try.” His soft smile grew into a cheeky grin, and she couldn’t help but laugh a little as she blushed.

“Well, why bother lying down myself when I have a magical ethereal boyfriend who could easily bench-press me?” She waggled her eyebrows at him jokingly, causing him to roll his eyes.

“Point taken.” No sooner had he said that then she found herself lying back on the bed. He stood over her for a moment, admiring her and looking quite smug, before joining her on the bed.

“Hot,” she commented before threading a hand through his long hair and pulling him down for a kiss. It didn’t last very long, though, before he gently removed her hand and pulled back.

“Now, I did mention I wanted to try something.”

“Oh, well, by all means. Don’t let me stop you,” she scoffed.

“I do get the joke, but please do tell me if you need me to stop.” What a fretful reaper he was. His eyes flashed solid black for a moment, and she realized he’d magically removed her underwear and stockings. How entirely unnecessary.

“Yes, dear,” she sighed, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, mostly because he was quite the sight and she didn’t want to miss a thing.

Gently, he kissed her again, slow and deep. He took his time, seemed to savor every moment, seeking every point of contact as he moved down her naked body. He kissed down her neck, kneading her breasts, before sliding his hands down her sides and replacing them with his mouth.

She gasped, arching into his touch and whining when he continued to move downward.

Her hands found his hair as his mouth found her clit, and she gripped onto him hard, cursing his name before words left her mind altogether. She’d been with normal, non-magic men before, and there was no doubt he was using magic now. The moment his tongue touched her it was like her entire body became a live wire. Anywhere he touched received a jolt of pleasure, leaving her shaking and moaning as he worked. She wasn’t sure when her eyes had closed, but when she opened them she could see a faint shadowy aura around the two of them.

“Why does —” she tried to question the abilities he displayed, but was cut off beautifully as the heat coiling in her abdomen came to the brink of release, and she lost interest in delving into the details of magical abilities. Her fingers clutched tightly in his long hair as her body went stiff, her legs closing him in against her. The magic ebbed into less of an electric charge, became more of a soft cradle, as if the universe itself was holding onto her. Despite that feeling, she was distinctly aware of his hands tracing soothing circles against her hipbone.

There was a moment where she caught her breath. She opened her eyes, and laughed tiredly as she found him watching her fondly.

“You’re gorgeous,” he told her.

“You’re a sap,” she replied, though her tone matched his in soft adoration. He laughed, and she shakily sat up to kiss him. His clothes were gone. He must have dissipated them while she was distracted. “Why does Death have weird sex magic?” she finally asked.

Clearly, he wasn’t expecting that, as he seemed to choke on the laugh that escaped him. “I — It’s not —” He was giggling. Death was naked, in her bed, giggling. “It’s not ‘sex magic.’ Dear lord. No. It’s just... my normal magic, channeled to this specific purpose.”

“Lame. You should invest in legitimate sex magic,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Incredible. Now.” She took his face in her hands. His hair was dishevelled, and she noted somewhere in her mind that his physical form was an illusion conjured by his magic. His hair was only messed up because he had allowed it to be. “Darling. Honey. Love of my life.”

“Yes, dear.” He was still doting on her, placing gentle kisses anywhere he could reach. Which, at the moment, was mostly her wrists.

“Would you kindly fuck me?” she requested, and he made a sound that caused her to wonder if it was possible to kill Death.

“I uh... I — Well — You — I mean — That is —” He hid his face against her for a moment, before gathering himself and drawing back to look at her, completely collected. As if he hadn’t just been incredibly flustered. “Yes. Yes, I can absolutely do that.”

“Awesome.” She set her hands firmly on his shoulders, and he allowed her to flip them on the bed so she was straddling him. She moved a hand down to his length, humming in thought as she stroked it. “So, if you create your form at will, why didn’t you make your dick bigger?”

“I —” He seemed absolutely appalled, and it occurred to her that maybe she could have worded that... better. “I mean... I can? It was my understanding that it would be... uncomfortable, for you? If it was... too large? I can change it, if you’d prefer —”

She took mercy on his poor, flustered soul. “Shh. Hon. I was just curious. Basically like when I asked why you always show up with long hair? I just wonder what your decision making process is like. Your dick is fine.” She patted him on the shoulder in a sarcastic mockery of comfort.

“You’re impossible.” He groaned.

“Oh, I know. It’s the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off. But, even more fun if she does.” She tilted her head, watching him as she held his cock to her entrance, observing him as she lowered herself onto it. His reactions were more controlled than those of a mortal man, but they were definitely there. His hands found her hips again, tighter than before by a mere fraction. He was always so careful with her. A part of her wanted to challenge that.

Slowly, deliberately, she sank down onto him. He was very still, and she could see his composure fracture as she moved at a frankly torturous speed. By the time he was inside of her to the hilt, he’d let his head fall back against the pillow, cursing under his breath in languages she was sure were long dead.

As fun as it was to try to break Death, she wasn’t patient enough to keep that up. She started moving, an appreciative sound escaping her throat as she rocked against him. His hips rose to meet hers flawlessly, another giveaway of his true nature, along with the familiar magic she could see and feel surrounding them again.

“Does... does the magic do anything for you?” she asked breathlessly as his arms moved from her hips to wrap around her.

He kissed her before answering, stealing what little breath she had left. “Yes.” His voice was quiet, and as soon as she had her answer he was kissing her again desperately.

Earlier, she’d asked how long it had been since anyone had touched him. Centuries, he’d said. She couldn’t imagine. He was holding onto her as if he would break apart otherwise, kissing her as if that were the only way he could breathe. It was intense to say the least, and she was so caught up that she hardly noticed he was moving them until she was suddenly empty and beneath him again.

He reentered her as their eyes met, and the new rhythm was a step up from the languid motions just moments before. He was shaking, like he had been on the bench earlier, when they’d first discovered this was possible. One of her hands found his face, cradling it in her hand as she had before. He kissed her palm, his eyes closing for a moment, and he shivered visibly when her other hand ran down his back.

“If it were possible for me to die twice...” he whispered, barely audible even as close as they were.

“Hey,” she replied, kissing him gently. “Hey. It’s okay.” It seemed, for a moment, she’d return his adoring gestures. Then she smiled softly. “I know mouth to mouth.”

He groaned, his head falling against her shoulder as she laughed.

“You’re the worst,” he complained, though she could feel his smile against her skin.

“You love me,” she replied reflexively, and when he sighed it was with something more akin to reverence than exasperation.

“I do.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then the crook of her neck. He kissed his way back up to her mouth, his hand cradling her face tenderly. “I do.” Saying that seemed to open a floodgate. He continued to whisper lovingly to her, so quietly it could almost be lost in the barest space between them. She didn’t understand all of it. He lapsed into languages she couldn’t even begin to guess the origin of, but the meaning behind it was clear. He cared so deeply that he simply couldn’t keep quiet about it. Even if she couldn’t understand it, he needed to say it aloud.

She felt choked up, for an instant. Caught in the intensity of the moment, in the emotions she was so used to deflecting with jokes and light hearted replies. She couldn’t do that. Not right now. So, she held onto him tightly, and hoped the way she kissed him could speak for her. Whether it could or not, he seemed satisfied with it. It did nothing to silence him, and for that she was grateful. He just kept whispering against her lips, and when he couldn’t do that she heard him within her own mind.

She felt herself getting close again, but with an odd sense of regret. She didn’t want the moment to end. She didn’t want time to pass. She just wanted to stay there with him, to hold him, to keep hearing his whispers. She clung to him as her orgasm wracked her, and just as before she felt the magic shift. She felt the universe holding her, and his lips pressing a kiss to her temple.

He went still above her and inside of her, and something strange happened. For a moment, but just a moment, his physical form did not look human. He looked like a shadow, or like dissipating smoke, and the room went black. Not as if the lights went out, but as if light no longer existed. She could still feel the bed beneath her, but could no longer feel him touching her.

Then light returned.

“What...” She sat up slowly, looking down at herself. There would be no need to get up and shower. She still felt the afterglow and the exhaustion, but none of the grime or sweat. Stranger still, she was clothed in her soft fleece pajamas. Her favorite pair.

“I hope that’s okay,” he spoke beside her, and her head whipped around to look at him. He was still completely naked, and she would not deny her delight at that. “It’s a cold October night. I knew you’d... eventually get up to shower and put those on — I didn’t read your mind, it’s just... kind of a routine, with you.” He was rambling. Nervous. He was nervous. She couldn’t imagine why. “And I... didn’t really want you to get up. You can, of course, I won’t stop you, but I’d prefer —”

She sighed in fond exasperation, before silencing him with a kiss. Without hesitation, she snuggled up to him, pleased that his arms moved to hold her so quickly when she did.

“Thanks. I won’t deny I’m incredibly lazy, and this is a very nice surprise.”

“Oh.” He relaxed immediately. “Oh, okay. I wasn’t sure if it would be... okay? You know I try to respect mortal concepts of privacy, but I don’t always know for sure —”

“Babe?” She yawned, patting his shoulder tiredly.

“Yes, love?”

“It’s alright. You’re fine. Let’s just... stay like this for a while, okay?”

“... Okay.” She didn’t need to look to know he was smiling. She felt a hand card through her hair, but she was too sleepy to know if one of his arms had moved or if he was just using magic. “... I love you.”

“You’re such a sap...” she told him drowsily. “I love you too.”

* * *

Charli Decker is a 20-year-old transman from Newfoundland, Canada who mainly writes noir and supernatural fantasy. Charli is a video game designer and a big fan of that medium, and any other way to tell a good story. You can find him on Tumblr .