I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.


    Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Share
    avatar
    Tariq
    Admin

    Posts : 195
    Join date : 2012-05-13

    Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Tariq on Sun May 13, 2012 4:36 pm

    -- Tariq's dark fur prickled in sharp needles at the omen's unwise protest and his ankle twisted to grind the bony tip of his star-kissed tail further into the ground. The blood that trickled in serpentine streaks from the base of the boy's throat proved a temptation far too potent to resist. A single flick of the bat's split tongue revealed a stripe of grey skin amongst the streaked scarlet.

    "You are nothing," he repeated into the silence following the boy's wheezed pant. The cold depths of his black eyes glinted as his skull shifted, cocking his head like a looming blackbird.

    The cold curve of his claws prickled dangerously along the ashy flesh of the boy's sternum. With all the proficiency of a mad butcher slicing through tendon, he split the fabric binding his chest in a neat line accompanied by the painful sound of rending cloth. Scraps tinged an awful red still clung limply to bony limbs, miserably refusing to surrender entirely beneath the bat's claws.

    "Killing you--" The words began with a throaty snarl as he forced the last few threads apart with a wrench, revealing an artist's canvas of pallid flesh marred with warped purple scars and smears of crimson blood. "--will be such a disappointment." Skeletal fingers crept soft as a sparrow's wing over skin that shivered beneath their touch. "Such a waste..."

    The hissed word trailed off, swallowed by the thick blackness of the vampire's lair, as his hand crept up to the boy's bare throat. The hollow between his thumb and forefinger encircled his slender neck and the ball of his thumb pressed cruelly into the the taut cord of his stretched windpipe, severing his breath from asthmatic lungs with the pressure.

    "Perhaps you don't deserve such a sweet ending, my prince du sang." The bat's long spine had curved to allow his black lips to whisper venomous words into a vulpine ear, easing the omen closer by the cruel grip around his throat as though he were a ragdoll. "Ripping out your throat, sucking the marrow from every miserable bone - it is a death befitting a martyr. Your dear songbird would shiver and weep for the bloody scraps of you left behind, your playthings would wonder at your absence. Sung to sleep with a belly full of sorrows... no, it is much more than you deserve."

    His hand still pressed thoughtlessly into the boy's throat, apt to incite a flurry of black spots to swarm over his lamp-lit vision. The bat's ghostly hair shifted in a cascade of rustling white as he lifted his unoccupied fingertips to his lips. The point of a sharp fang, stained quicksilver in the pulsing light from the boy's eyes, sliced with bone-chilling ease through the pads of his first two fingers. Blood welled up reluctantly from starved veins.

    "Do you remember the intimate night, Fabien?" Despite the blood that had already begun to slip over the crest of his fingers, ripe drops falling one, two to the floor, the bat's voice thrummed with a deeply animal satisfaction, each word spoken slowly, surely, relished with a flick of his forked tongue. He lifted the bleeding fingers to the omen's gaze, indifferent to any writhing attempts to allow air into aching lungs. "The sensory burden of my blood in your veins? Did every shadow have fangs, dearly beloved? Could you hear the stars screaming, the ocean moaning for a taste of your bubbling flesh?"

    Abruptly, the side of his muzzle brushed against the omen's gaunt cheek, nuzzling with a tender cruelty into the dark stain of a spade. "Perhaps that is a more fitting end for a creature like you, snuffed out in the gnashing blackness. Starved you were born and starved you would die, mouthfuls of sizzling blood carving a trail of rot to your empty belly." He released his grip on the omen's throat, an action sure to draw a panicked gasp from a starving body reliant on that precious inhale. However, the bat was ready. The instant his thin lips parted, they were smeared in scarlet as the bat forced his bloody fingers past them, streaking his tongue with the mind-altering blood tainted by his long-dead veins. It certainly wasn't enough to still the panicked startle of his heart, nor affect the change the vampire had ominously hinted at. However, it was certainly effective enough to ensure that the pain of every cut intensified, the shriek of severed nerves resounding again and again in an electric crackle of intensified agony as his senses heightened against their will.
    avatar
    Fabien

    Posts : 182
    Join date : 2012-05-14

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Fabien on Mon May 14, 2012 3:32 pm

    Fabien’s fingers coiled tightly enough to rival any child of the gallows, straining against the burning kiss of the rope. His reaction to so simple a statement was quite exceptional, certainly worthy of the stage. The omen ground his demonic teeth, made a noise more rabid animal than human boy. But such a word, how cruelly it stung him, and how vividly he flinched back from it as though the bat’s claws had already left in pieces. In this, his attention was alleviated from the ritualistic, fearfully preparatory shredding of his attire. But the boy’s memory, foolish and tangled as it was, retained the warm embers of rebellion that had been easily lured by mere suggestion. His downfall was written into those rivers of blood that threaded across his grey skin, burning the livid scars that would not fade.

    Suddenly, frightfully, the bat regained the youth’s full attention; was discovered once more in the dark slash of his pupils, and the rasping split of his lips. His head shook in agitated, rapid refusal, one of the condemned pleading with melancholy expression alone to have such a sentence reversed. Pathetic, trembling fingers stretched fourth towards the untouchable darkness, pleaded at the nothingness they could not grasp. “Monsieur...” he attempted to negotiate again, softly, carefully, like one offering gentle prayer to ward off the jaws of a lion. Terror made him tender, his fear blinded efforts intended to soothe aggression with trembling quiet. “Je me suis trompé-...” But his prayers were quickly broken, shattered by the harsh grip that silenced his deceitful lips. The omen’s struggling breath convulsed at the back of his restricted throat, his consumptive lungs too quickly burdened and unable to recover from so fierce a pressure. The fingers which had so fleetingly been outstretched like an imploring lover became trembling talons, swollen joints locked in a brutal display. They craved life, sought to conjure it from air firmly denied to their master, and seemed as though they could manifest it for him in the hollow of his palm. He could not recognise the vampire’s movement, the fingers drawn to that awful mouth. His mind was behind a curtain of larger concerns, flickering memories, ghostly, laughing voices that chimed finer than the belles of Notre-Dame.

    The choking, fading omen could do little but stare with listless, burning eyes that held nothing but the empty confusion, frightened confusion of a spring lamb. He could scarcely recognise what was being said, nor discern the mention of one intimate night from another... for so many of them had been torturous. His purpled, bruised mouth sought to form some word, but whatever it was; it was lost quickly in gasping silence. When the brush of dark fur made contact with his cold skin, the omen neared the precipice of unconsciousness. So close to the void did he delicately step, that his fingers slackened and arm swung limp at his side. Sadly, such a joy was not his to claim. Upon his release, the fox-featured boy heaved into the air, his throat and lungs playing out a beautiful chorus of damaged accordions and broken harmonicas. Their musical accompaniment was stifled by the sudden intrusion of those bloodied fingertips, which were gagged upon with an undignified vehemence. Fabien’s entire being sought to recoil, to curl in upon itself like a wounded forest creature, protective of his every aching bone. He sought the floor, shoulders tormented spears that threatened to burst through his thin skin like the wings of a deranged angelic. His spine became the gutted bones of a serpent, rising from beneath the sea of his flesh like something poisoned the very waters it dwelt within. So far down did he sink, that his lower jaw nearly struck the ground beneath him, hard enough to shatter bone.

    Barricaded with head bowed between the columns of his arms, Fabien spat blood. He expelled the toxic, narcotic fluid from between his teeth in a glisten trail that clung to the blackened curve of his lower lip. Exhausted, he remained there, with the spider web trail of poisoning fluid stitching him to the bat’s floor.
    avatar
    Tariq
    Admin

    Posts : 195
    Join date : 2012-05-13

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Tariq on Tue May 15, 2012 11:58 pm

    --The point of Tariq’s blood-drenched claws bit into the omen’s tongue in two serpent-bite pricks as they snaked a rapid withdrawal from the dangerous confines of that toothed mouth. He allowed the boy to stumble to the floor, his tortured retching coaxing the wicked ghost of a grin to his dark features as he unconsciously lingered just outside the unsteady flickering from trembling, lamp-lit eyes. The bat raised his fingers to his lips to tenderly kiss the cocktail of blood from rough fingertips as black eyes blindly observed the poor creature heave on the floor.

    He did not quite allow the omen’s racking coughs to dwindle before stalking close on silent feet, hoisting him back to his limp legs by the nape of his neck. Scraps of straggling rags still dangled from the boy’s arms like the remnants of threadbare wings.

    “It won’t do you any good,” he rasped as he hoisted the boy up like a drowned sailor, his voice a cool wisp of mist in the dark room. Something malevolent and hungry slithered through the dark ocean-depths of his eyes as he reflexively met the omen’s gaze. “It is already in your veins, your lungs, your traitorous tongue. Can you feel it? Can you feel me inside of you? Can you feel my wings scraping against every beat of your faithless heart?”

    Abruptly, the omen’s legs were swept out from beneath him by a timely kick that returned him to the floor, the slick concoction of blood and saliva unpleasantly sticky on flesh. This time, the bat shadowed him to the floor, forcing him to his stomach with thoughtless ease. He pressed into the harsh curve of his jutting vertebrae with lips to his ear, his weight and the bristle of his chest pinning him helplessly in place in a cage of spiked wings and bent arms.

    “Have your apologies run dry so soon, beloved?” His voice was as the sound of many waters and the flick of his serpentine tongue was chilling to the flesh of the boy’s furred ears. The vampire arched his back, allowing the burden of his shoulders to lift from the floor to be replaced by the chilling touch of ten deadly claws at the back of his ashen neck.

    “You would do well to remember them swiftly, I think.” His mild words were drowned out by the sound of rending skin and cloth as those claws flexed, gouging into sensitive skin as the bat wrenched from neck to the knobby base of his spine. The damage was devastating and, enhanced as the omen’s system was on the poison trilling through his arteries, apt to shatter what coherency he had clung to. The clothes that had obstinately refused to surrender to the bat’s initial onslaught now dripped with the shockingly vivid blood that eagerly bloomed in the furrows dug for them, drenching fabric and floor like the sweat of the depraved, painting skin and fur with the scarlet brush of the damned.

    Had the misfortunate omen taken refuge in unconsciousness at the dreadful torture, the sudden shock of pain jangling through nerve endings as he was rolled over like a corpse and had his newest injuries ground into the floor was likely to revive him.

    “You are never without me.” Despite the blood-drenched carnage beneath him, the bat’s words had dipped into a hypnotic murmur meant to bore into even a skull made thick with pain-craze. He spoke in a feathery whisper that suggested he was intimately aware of how powerfully his voice echoed in ears that could no longer muffle their master against the slightest sensation. “You have never once taken your fill without me. You have never stumbled upon a plaything without tainting them with my darkness. You have never been so far lost in gloom and soot, glass or smoke that I could not find you.” His voice was like the soft consolations of the sea, flickering gently against screaming wounds and the dim fire of the omen’s over-stimulated consciousness. “You are mine, Fabien, and I am so deep inside of you that nothing can cut me from the marrow of your bones.”

    The vampire’s presence was soft, hardly anything more than suggestion and shadow as he crept to the sharp shard of a vulpine ear. His lips caressed the sooty tip tenderly, tickling fur, his veiled company so insubstantial against weeping skin and broken nerves as to be the sigh of a specter. “You are mine, and you will die by my teeth.” The silence was thick and full, even to heightened senses. “But not tonight, although you might wish otherwise.” The bat softly rested his head like a malignant hound on the boy’s chest. One broad ear fell low, pulsing gently to the timepiece of the omen’s thin heartbeat. The pool of blood, black in the dusk and smeared in grotesque patterns by the pair’s movements, continued to spread lazily outward. It was welcomed eagerly into the bat's clinging shadows.
    avatar
    Fabien

    Posts : 182
    Join date : 2012-05-14

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Fabien on Wed May 16, 2012 1:46 pm

    Fabien could not regain the frail breath that been crushed from his windpipe, anchored low in his asthmatic lungs where it burned like hot smoke. He craved the floor, its smoothness a welcoming comfort, and its stillness called to him with all the sweet scented softness of a virginal maiden’s pillow. So it was with the reluctance of a pampered royal pet that he was hoisted away, weak fingernails slipping pathetically as they failed to find root and hook. The youth’s frail chest, unable to fully swell, wheezed ever more violently in an orchestra of broken instruments and agonised death rattle. His lips were still blue. But the eyes that struggled to maintain a focus upon the terrible onyx jewels that confronted them still maintained some semblance of intelligence. With it came terrible understanding. The darkness that framed the sharp contours of the bat’s form was no longer still water, it moved, dance, and it screamed. There were shapes he recognised within that curtain, manifestations of nightmares that craved a bite of his flesh, and laughed with sadistic delight at his torture. The boy’s expression was beyond imploring, beyond lost; he was terrified. Such a look would have won him a useless fortune on the streets, a multitude of sympathetic voices and offerings of warm sheets and fireside retreats under the watchful guard of tender souls. It was useless here, and he expected no charity from the twin dark mirrors his flickering gaze fell into. “Make it stop.” He whispered, snatching the words from between his gasped breath. It was painfully mortal, stripped bare and wretchedly human. Had he the strength to do so, he might have clung with trembling fingers to the bat’s dark fur and begged with every part of his soul to be set free.

    The floor was no longer a steady platform on which to rest, and had he been informed the ground was tilting him ever so slowly toward the fires of the hell... Fabien would not have questioned it. He fell into rotten corpses, was ground into the half decomposed faces of those he’d loved, and wronged, and murdered. His blood and spit was no longer part of his own flesh, but was the foul slime of decay, and it welcomed him with a joyous laughter that was growing increasingly deafening. Soon, no doubt, he would be screaming. The close press of the bat’s body became near unbearable, he felt as though he were beneath the vampire’s skin, trapped in some labyrinth of teeth and fur. The vampire’s voice resonated somewhere between the omen’s flattened ears, raking painful pathways behind his eyes, he was so sure he could feel them bleeding. Despite this, when the vampire’s weight lifted, he sought to twist his body aside and pull towards him like a frightened child seeking comfort from bad, bad dreams. Unwise, and misguided though it was, he was drawn towards the one creature that might end such torment. And for a single, fragile moment, the weight of the claws on the back of his gasping neck was almost a comfort. “S’il vous plaít... s’il vous plaít.” He managed to croak out, each word a husky, tearful sob that took every part of his resilience to compose.

    When it came, he did not feel pain; at least not at first. It was something beyond physical sensation, the terrible knowledge of flesh split and warm blood gushing across his spine like a red sea. He instead painted scenes, visualised a crimson wave long before he felt its impact. And when the screech of pain finally ignited through him... it was like burning alive. Fabien was silent. He was a creature in shock, eyes wide and glassy like a forgotten child’s play thing. His heart beat erratic, his breathing shallow and ornamented with a strange, sickly whistling. His teeth were chattering. Soon the coldness had spread, and when he was overturned, the boy remained there shivering in the growing pool of his own blood, beyond any help and hope. He saw stars. There was something rather beautiful in them, the hallucinogenic constellations that had begun to collect at the highest reach of the bat’s darkness. Pin prick holes in a dark cloth, and they shone bright as fireflies. The vampire’s words did not soften his trembling, but rather encouraged it to flourish until all of him shook, cold, and wet, slipping in and out of focus. There came no rebellious curl of the lip now, no dismissive turn of feline pupil. No slight signals that spoke of veiled mockery, and youthful arrogance. The omen’s position upon that floor was crippled, his spine in tormented twist, every joint that could clench made ivory as blood was crushed in the hopes it might stifle the fires that blazed savagely through his skin.

    The butchered youth clung, miserably, regrettably to life. Though the beat of his heart much too low, much too strange to be healthy. It was the inner workings of broken automata, still playing a sad, melancholy tune as it struggled on. His skull rolled aside, cheek and hair bathed in the black fluid that continued to throb from his spine.

    His eyes cast moonlight across those dark rivers, illuminating it like the pulsating glow of lamplight along the Seine.
    avatar
    Tariq
    Admin

    Posts : 195
    Join date : 2012-05-13

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Tariq on Wed May 16, 2012 10:58 pm

    --Tariq continued to lay still in a twist of sharp spine, his silhouette watchful and skull remaining a soft weight against the boy’s thin chest. Useless eyes had long ago fallen shut, bruised lids concealing the blighted streaks of shadow beneath them. The bat’s attention lingered wholly in the gentle quivering of rapt fingers as they brushed soft as a cobweb over the starved, jutting curve of the boy’s stark ribs, the trembling of broad ears that pulsed in quiet metronome to his skittery heart, and the coppery fragrance of blood, warm and wet, that filled his nose and mouth.

    When he shifted at the fallen omen’s side it was with conscious, delicate care. The dark shroud of heavy wings that had fallen to veil the gruesome scene rose in great, bloody folds before coming together in uneasy rustling at his back, the clawed appendages startlingly dexterous. He rocked back on his haunches. Rivulets of hair streamed from his skull in a froth of white stained a faint red where prickling ends brushed over the boy’s bruised and bloodied flesh.

    Gently, the bat took the collapsed omen’s hand in his own.

    Had a spectator miraculously appeared at that very moment to preside over the grotesque scene, they might have declared the gesture an apology, an admission of fault, a symptom of a guilt-stained conscience, so tenderly did the vampire’s long fingers fold over the limp palm. However, there was something of quiet possessiveness in the idle way he turned the delicate bones until his scarred wrist faced the sky; something of thoughtless domination in the curve of his backbone as he bent to allow the tip of his tongue to flick over the flesh.

    Blood danced a wild pattern of black up the omen’s arm where it had fallen to the floor. Efficiently, lovingly, the bat’s tongue cut a trail of grey through the grisly design. The deadly curve of his fangs remained tucked beneath the softness of black lips as he sucked tenderly on skin, coaxing the nerves into a content lull, enticing the poor creature’s flickering consciousness to wax—and remain. Clearly, he did not want him to surrender to the sweet darkness of sleep just yet.

    His poison still trilling through aching veins and arteries, the bat set to the gentle work of luring skin and muscle to ease. He crept from the tantalizing bones of his wrist to the soft flesh at the crook of his elbow before moving to the hollow of his shoulder where his neck connected to its arching slope of muscle. Here, old fears and angry scars were easily rekindled—but his teeth remained demurely tucked away, the coaxing comfort of his lips and tongue seductively affectionate. He maintained his delicate balance of gentle lips and rough tongue, sweet kisses to stimulated flesh and the unexpected movement of his body in the dark to cajole the boy’s body into deceptive restfulness without letting him slip into sleep.

    He continued along the slender stem of his taut throat. Unhurriedly, the touch of his lips slipped to the jagged gash just above the slash of his collarbone, serpentine tongue patient in its persuasive care.

    It wasn’t long before his trail of kisses fluttered, firm and warm, down his sternum, down the line of his gaunt chest, his starved stomach still striped with clinging cloth. Just before the bat reached his pelvis, he pulled away, the touch of one long hand still lingering on the curve of a hipbone. In the pervasive quiet of the dark room, the sound of his own shed fabric was easy to discern as the attire binding his lower half was cast off into the gloom. When his mouth returned to its cajoling affections against tortured flesh they had gained something of heat, a thin, coiled spark of craving hidden like a blade in his movements as his lips crept downward, deft fingers peeling back the stubborn barrier of cloth that shielded his thighs from the vampire’s tongue.

    Tariq arched his back and pulled himself closer to the boy, easily nudging his knees apart. His bare pelvis nestling between the omen’s legs and maned chest pressing softly into his trembling stomach allowed him to whisper into a silver ear, “Your quivering flesh remembers to whom it belongs, Fabien. Allow me to remind you.” His voice resonated like a single plucked violin string, deep and dark and taut. It was in no way a question.
    avatar
    Fabien

    Posts : 182
    Join date : 2012-05-14

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Fabien on Thu May 17, 2012 2:33 pm

    Fabien’s gaze continued to drift across the gently rolling rivers of his blood, his attention devoted to somewhere deep within the forest of shadows. Only the bat’s touch upon his trembling fingers stirred him back to the present, encouraged the pathetic roll of his head and flickering beam of his pain infused eyes to settle upon the ghostly shroud of white hair. That cold, clammy hand was lifeless in the vampire’s grasp; it was the hand of a corpse, and motionless save for the damaged quiver of his fingertips. So it was with a certain faraway softness that the boy spoke of his concerns, each word uttered as with all the frailty and naivety as a child. “Je suis si froid...So cold.” He whispered through shivering teeth and a familiarity more befitting a favourable guest at his sick bed, and not the one who had just inflicted such tortures upon his old skin. Quite rapidly his eyelids drooped, fell like rotten curtains upon a long forgotten stage to conceal the slow, sickly movement of his serpentine pupils. His jaw slackened with it, and the breath that painfully stirred his gaunt chest drifted down to a level inaudible to a creature with less keener senses than his Master. His pulse, like a final trick designed to impress an Emperor. Vanished.
    Just when it seemed the bat’s efforts to stoke the flames of the omen’s consciousness back into life had failed, his pallid lips parted. A keyhole glint of light slipped from beneath the heavy shades of his eyelids, casting a frosted gleam across the rise of his sharp cheekbones. Tender touches were magnified as finely at the agonised ones, and softness of dark lips upon his flesh were raindrops that purified the fires of his pain. This softness, as much needed as it was, carved the line of his brow with grief. His chest convulsed in a dry, rattling sob of half consumed air which was followed sharply by a grimace of excruciating pain. He learned then quickly, very quickly, that it was unwise to move. But in his efforts to remain still thereafter, the vampire had him. It came first with the easing of his tight chest, lulled into a rhythm more natural and less hostile. His muscles began to soften slowly, gradually like branches warmed from beneath a prison of winter frost, the twisted spine no longer frozen in torment. Finally, the trembling began to melt aside, although it did not depart him entirely. But no longer did his teeth click together in so musical a pattern. The omen’s features smoothed into a look of serenity, his pinched features somewhat resembling carved marble in the sickly beam of his throbbing gaze. Fabien’s line of sight drifted up once more, skyward, away from the manifestations of demons and torment that he had been ground into his body was moulding beneath the bat’s attentions with gradual ease. But when he neared his throat, he whispered to him a second time. “So many stars, Monsieur. What a pity it is you cannot see them.” His voice was heavy with regret, tight throated, illogical, and still half deranged. But whatever phantom lights he could detect in the inky blackness above the bat’s skull, they did well to keep him calm.

    It was not to last.

    The omen dredged his gaze down when he felt the vampire shift from him, the pathway of kisses imprinted upon his chest still blazing there long after he had departed. He moved his curled, quivering fingers to touch his own skin, testing the flesh for indentations, burning marks left like brands from dark lips. His blood soaked tail stirred then like a half drowned sewer rat, slicking up from the dripping crimson fluid in a grotesque splattering before it fell, exhausted, back near his thigh. He could make no sense of the bat’s actions, at least not at first. Then, when heated kissed had his chin tilting slowly, sensually backward like a being possessed. He could feel warmth now, just beneath his skin, and already his lower body had awoken. The subtle changed, easily missed without the vampire’s blood in his veins, chimed through him with dreadful potency. But he caught himself before a complete surrender, and cringed, not this time with pain, but something else that made him lift one weary arm to brow feel for something beneath his flesh.

    Something else disturbed the waters within there, something which was corrupting him from within. “Je suis empoisonné.” He breathed, pressing the ball of his palm deep into the sunken hollow of his eye so fiercely one might have supposed he intended to crush the delicate flesh like an egg. The vampire’s words registered almost immediately, with more sharpness than his affections. And responsive as he was now, Fabien understood with terrible clarity what might come of this. “Non, non, let me be. Let me be.” He gasped, one knee shifting upwards in feeble attempt to hook the bat away. He sought to slide his body upwardly, but the slightest flinch of muscle encouraged a sharp, hoarse cry of pain. With the remnants of his strength, his hand moved to seek to bat’s wrist.
    It fell there, fingers weakly curled as near to dark fur as they could manage, staking whatever claim they could... and with his touch, he begged. “Je suis désolé... je me souveins... I am yours, only yours. I remember. S’il vous plaít, non, I remember.
    avatar
    Tariq
    Admin

    Posts : 195
    Join date : 2012-05-13

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Tariq on Fri May 18, 2012 1:17 am

    --The startlingly delicate white eyelashes that rimmed Tariq’s dark eyes like a crust of hoarfrost flickered at the omen’s mournful reflection as to the imagined stars that whirled somewhere in the thick shadows above his head. Those eyes were uncannily large in the gloom, dark and liquid and reflecting minute shards of erratic light like daggers. Whatever the vampire’s reply, it was swallowed with the ghost of a sigh as his neck bent to continue his mouth’s work of warming and softening the boy’s bruised body, heating and shaping his needful skin like molten glass.

    He caught the boy’s ankle in his palm at the feeble attempt to nudge him aside. Instead of releasing it to fall back into the blood below, the bat eased his leg upward in a motion apt to coax the grinding muscles of his split back into a shriek of agony, and hooked the crook of his knee over his shoulder. The omen couldn’t resist the motion without defying the anguish of the severed nerves at his back. He was helpless to struggle against the vulnerability of his position, leaving bare thighs still more exposed to the bat’s tender cruelties.

    “Je serai douce,” he whispered consolingly, the foreign language rasping in his toothed mouth, the words crooning. He did not shake off the thin, curled fingers that sought his wrist. Instead, they were allowed to cling to whatever comfort they could glean in the dark fur, in the hard bone as the hand rested with fingers splayed and palm firm at the base of the boy’s bony sternum. “Hush, now. You do not remember, not yet.

    The grind of his hips was licentious as they pressed between the omen’s receptive thighs. The sweet blood harvested in angry gashes from his tight throat, sipped from trembling fingers and kissed gently from aching flesh had kindled the vampire’s body from its hungry torpor. Roused, it was burning and eager; entirely animal in its wicked movement of bending muscle and febrile flesh.

    “You would only remember your struggle, little fox.” His voice had lost something of its cool, cave-damp; it was no longer restrained, serene. It had become dusty and dry, transmuted into a hot, throaty sigh like the cracked clay of an ancient desert. “Tinder for your rebellious imagination.”

    Abruptly, his skull dipped, spine arching in a taut semi-circle that allowed him to take the firm, aching flesh marred with the dark stain of a club between his lips. It was only for in an instant -- he swallowed it with a twist of his tongue, with a wild, hungry draw of his lips -- but the action was likely to send a crackle like electricity sparking through every nerve, twisting like a hard fist up his backbone until the bones popped, curling toes and flexing joints until they whitened.

    “And now, Fabien--,” A shift of his hips, a flex of his waist, thin fingers reaching for the dark crook between his legs; they were bad omens, all. “--you will only remember your submission.”

    Like the wounds that had carved searing veins of fire throughout the boy’s trembling body in rivers of molten agony, the effects of the sudden tautening of muscle and subsequent thrust from every part of the bat’s frame were likely to be delayed. The abrupt fullness bloomed deep inside, the edge of pain appearing like its own god, deep, dark, bottomless. The vampire pulled him in deep and hard until their ribcages sparked, the soft tremble of his wings unconscious, involuntary, a despised symptom of the sudden abandon in his restraint. His black lips parted as though he had more to add, his darkly affectionate soliloquy bereft of its epilogue — but instead of a biting conclusion, a thin exhale, coloured with the skeleton of a breathy moan trembled over his tongue, flitting long and lonely into his shadows who now seemed to be holding their breath.
    avatar
    Fabien

    Posts : 182
    Join date : 2012-05-14

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Fabien on Fri May 18, 2012 2:24 pm

    Despite the soothing caresses that were relished by his overly sensitive skin, Fabien’s emotional turmoil began to escalate. His mind refused to settle, and soon the rose tinted aura that burned brightly from deep within his eyes was pulsing fiercely like a dying star. The bony ankle which found itself captured in the bat’s palm collected the quivering shockwaves that had begun most fiercely at his knees, tightening the youth’s frail chest until every panicked breath was one he fought for. If it continued in this manner, soon enough he’d not be able to regain it, and the burning desire to flee would cost him more blood and agony. When that trembling limb was flexed into its new position, the cursed creature’s terror forced his lower back into a thin bow, and he yelped like a woodland fox torn to bloodied scraps under the jaws of blood frenzied hounds. The terrible noise lingered on at the back of his throat, a groaning, weeping cry of dismay that was broken by his miserable gut wrenching gasps. The leg that remained anchored over dark fur did not cease its trembling, and the fingers that had found some frail purchase on the vampire’s wrist tightened their hold, worrying over the furred flesh with frantic, desperate motion.

    The bat’s words cut through him like shards of glass. The beacon glow of his eyes became transfixed upon dark lips, summoned there by the soft, falsely comforting lull of his own tongue. But it was clear something had given way, and it had crumpled whatever prideful resilience he still retained. The sudden, sweet scent of rain water perfuming the air betrayed his distress most evocatively. The beads of his sorrow were lit up like crystals as they fell, forming gleaming pathways across the grime of his cheeks. The boy’s chest convulsed gently as he sobbed, each jerk of muscle greeted with a thick, muffled groan of pain as he clenched his canid teeth in frail hope of muffling his sorrow. It almost inspired him to lose his resolve entirely, to screech and cry and question why he had been embedded in such despair, a despair from which he could never escape. But that was a gift he did not wish to grant, and with youthful frustration he lifted one stiffened arm up so that irritated fingers might grind his shame away. “S-s’il vous plaít, M-monsieur, je... je suis e-effrayé.” The boy whimpered, each shuddering word composed on the hinges of a gasp, and ripped from beneath his thick tongue with valiant effort. And yet, there was something trusting in the gentle glow of his hollowed out gaze, a tentative concentration and deep rooted desire to believe in the bat’s words; for he never lied.

    The omen was distracted from his misery with thankful swiftness. The unexpected curl of the bat’s tongue and the devastating twist of slick pressure on his heightened senses overwhelming him, sending an arrow of pleasure rippling through the omen’s thin frame. The trembling knee locked into place over the rise of the bat’s shoulder stiffened sharply, joint clenching in a move that was shameful suggestive and falsely encouraging. His soot dusted toes curled, but the fingers that had claimed the bat’s wrist released and stretched fourth as though at the shock to his nerves hooked and forced them outwards. With cheeks still moist with tears, the surge of sensation was greeted with a low, velvety cry of exquisite pleasure that teased the muscles of his abdomen and line of his thin waist to form a tense, hungry hollow. Fabien’s attention was glazed by the time he heard his name, and any nervous preparations that he had attempted before had been forgotten in the blaze of sudden desire that been seduced from his skin. He registered with sluggish understanding, pinched brow and parted, hungry lips

    By that time, he was much too late to ready himself.


    The boy’s initial response was a cringing, tightening adjustment of every muscle and bone in his body, as he fought to adjust to the sudden intrusion. The vibrant, bitter sting even enticed his skull to lift from the floor, chin tipped toward the rise of his jagged collarbone, lips parted in beautifully contained silence. But his eyes were still locked onto the bat’s own, focusing there with a look of agonised concentration like a young scholar following his Master’s instruction. Sensation hummed through him, and the intimacy of their closeness was almost smothering. It was clear he was trapped within a cage of sensation, a sensation that was completely beyond his capacity to cope with and it paralysed him there at the vampire’s leisure. The omen shadowed the bat’s groan with a small, shuddering pant, his breath hot and eyes mere sickles beneath the weight of his bruised eyelids. Spindly fingers ground into the dark fur of the vampire’s wrist, creeping like vinery across a tomb a little way up his forearm until grip solidified there for support.
    He had closed the space between them extensively, his lips still parted as though tantalizing the edges of words he dare not speak. And in that moment, all about him was stillness.

    Stillness adorned with enrapt anticipation.
    avatar
    Tariq
    Admin

    Posts : 195
    Join date : 2012-05-13

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Tariq on Wed May 23, 2012 10:33 pm


    --The palm that rested on the boy’s sternum suddenly became heavy as a stone, grinding painfully into the flat ridge of bone as Tariq’s weight shifted. With an abruptness that suggested he was struggling to stay true to his crooned promise, the bat’s hand slipped off his chest to the floor just above the omen’s bare hips. The deadly curve of dark claws bit into the frayed carpet with a scratching grate like the teeth of rats on wood. Thin fingers trembled. The bones of his wrist shook with a gently manic fervor that was not enough to shake free of the fingers that encased them but heated the boy’s palm as blood bloomed warm through dusty veins.

    The vampire took a shuddery breath.

    His long spine was taut as a flexed bow, vertebrae jutting from beneath the skin in cruel hooks of predatory bone. His wings hung in great, limp tatters at his side, quivering with the strain of the stretched muscles that supported them. Moonless night eyes remained half-lidded, sheathed in dark bruises of shadow, his parody of sight discarded, abandoned.

    The omen’s whimpering confession of fear still hung softly in the silence, drifting like a languid tongue of mist over entangled limbs, around taut throats and arched spines. It was resurrected in the soft, panting moans coaxed from hot breath, and rekindled to life at the bat’s throaty response as he stirred his body back into movement with a serpentine coiling of muscle.

    Ne pas...n'aie pas peur.” He stumbled momentarily over his whispered words, the structure of his sentence falling to pieces on his tongue as the painful tightness of every nerve and quivering muscle relaxed, softened at the shift of his hips. It was a momentary reprieve before his long frame sprang into motion like a tripwire. Their intimacy was apt to be suffocating to senses still dizzily heightened, his intrusion inciting scalding pain that intertwined with its twin of pleasure as warmed nerves bristled and cringing muscles tensed agonizingly.

    Tu sei mio.” But that was the wrong tongue, that wasn’t right, and with a raspy snarl that burned at the back of his throat, the vampire cut through the tangled gnarl of his deep-rooted memory for the proper words.

    “You--” Another tightening of his body followed by a brief lull before the next shudder rocked through him. “Are--” Again a thrust, their bodies finding a rhythm as regular as the rapid tick of the boy’s pulsing heart. “--mine, Fabien.” A particularly vehement rocking forward of his weight, his line of motion deep and dark and hard, accompanied the word as though the bat were trying to sear the knowledge into every fluttery nerve and cringing muscle. The bat’s words were bitten off with a sharp exhale. “Ah...”

    The space between them disappeared as the bat lowered himself to the omen’s throat where bruises had already begun to blossom with purple petals, the flick of his tongue icy enough to burn, teeth aching in his jaw to sever the thin skin that shielded his pounding blood. Instead, whispered words cut through the flesh in a cold whisper. “And I am so deep inside of you that nothing can cut me from the marrow of your bones.”

    Gently, without a pause in the measured cadence of their bodies, he adjusted the boy’s leg over his shoulder, pulling him up so he could delve deeper into the hollow formed by his quivering thighs. The long-fingered hand slid tenderly down the curve of his lean calf, slipping serpentine to the joint between his legs. Softly, cruelly the tips of his fingertips brushed against the fevered flesh marked with the dark club, playing delicately over nerves that ached and pleaded for his touch. Febrile flesh, warmed and firm with blood and poison, became easy prey for the stroke of his skeletal fingers, the masterful play of his wrist that drove the memory of him deeper, deeper into yielding, wanting skin. The tender touch of his lips lingered at the hollow of the boy’s throat. The silence was thick as the blackness that shrouded them both, broken only by the soft pants breathed into shivering skin and the involuntary rustle of dry wings.
    avatar
    Fabien

    Posts : 182
    Join date : 2012-05-14

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Fabien on Thu May 24, 2012 4:32 pm

    Fabien was completely stupefied, falsely enchanted and held in his perfect stillness, breath baited and eyes casting soft light to illuminate his own sharp features. At first he was without motion, a marbled statue lost and frozen in the labyrinth of his own disturbed thoughts. But his eyes were wide, the split pupils worrying over the bat’s features thoughtfully, intricately. Every word was captured by his flattened, defeated points of his vulpine ears, shivered through them with a dark, painful resonance. The poor creature was utterly claimed. It made itself known in his halted breath, and the caving weakness of his voice as it struggled to express a need for reassurance from his Master, his Ruler.” Ça fait mal, monsieur... Ça... fait mal.” He replied weakly, his fingers submerged in dark fur, held firm and indenting through dark fur with pressing desperation. Every movement sought patriarchal understanding, some form of gentleness beneath the softly murmured conviction of the bat’s words... even if it was contrived. It was a desire born of a tormented soul, and fractured heart beyond repair. For the omen had never needed such understanding before, nor compassion, or a need to express his blinding, agonising fear. Something was clearly amiss, had become corrupted, leaving the boy clinging with teeth clenched and nerves screaming in torment. Like a lonely wave, his entire body ebbed with the pull of the bat’s hips, grinding his slashed spine against the floor in a manner fierce enough to induce softly whimpering anguish.

    Slowly, terribly, his body began to relent, to give and offer itself as his mind had had already done. His lower back, fraught and scalding hot with pain as it was, curved in slow undulation. It was an undeniably uncomfortable surge, met with cringing, youthful features unable to cope with so consuming a sensation. But he was unable to cease, tensing against the bat, and moving with him in ever accepting sway that would compliment even rise into him. Harmonizing with the vampire’s piercing forward stroke in an electrical surge, the boy’s skull turned aside, and all about him clenched; eyes, and teeth, and fists, and writhing tail that spiralled and wavered near to tattered wing. His breath left him sharply, chin tilted once more, and lungs tight wit miserable execration. A small, constrained gasp of troubled pleasure just shaped the tip of his tongue, and broke across the falsely youthful rise of his lips before it was snatched away in discomfort.

    And then the bat was much too close, confusing the cursed youth’s body into a softening recline that encouraged every wrong inflicted upon him.

    His neck arched against the cool tongue that moved over burning, bruised flesh. His ancient tendons sharp and straight, making attractive hollows in his aged flesh that craved for more attention. So rich was the sensation that the boy’s breath caught in his lean throat in a succession of tortured gasps, and the vampire’s words were responded to with a noise that was near sultry admission.

    For the sake of his splintered dignity, and to recover and prevent further disgrace, he abandoned the arm he had been clinging to so ardently. The omen moved passionately to the fingers that had already begun to entice a delectable rise from him. Throbbing and ardent, it was lustfully composed toward the bat’s touch, forcing his body to burn into his own more artfully. His efforts to stopper this spell were weakened as soon as this landed, overcome by the electrical kisses of pleasure that once again curled his dark clawed toes. And soon, soft, whimpering gasps had become thicker, pulsing groans that seemed plucked musically from his throat by the pressure of the bat’s lips. Each pained, angry cry lengthening, complimenting, and submitting to the bat’s whims. His pain and discomforts were forgotten, his body was the vampire’s own, as was whatever scraps of mangled, rebellious sanity he had carried into the room with him. Everything was warm embers, tautening, slickening, and building toward a blaze.
    avatar
    Tariq
    Admin

    Posts : 195
    Join date : 2012-05-13

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Tariq on Wed May 30, 2012 10:08 pm

    The boy’s veins, trailing in cautious webs at the sensitive juncture of his wrists, elbows, thin ankles, were Kingfisher blue and Kingfisher shy, startlingly delicate despite the merciless poison that coursed through them. Tariq’s dusky eyelids flickered over the dark pit of his sightless eyes, nearly in surprise, as though with the clothing that had been ripped from the omen’s frame had come his skin and the shivering, gasping bundle of bones and strained muscles wrapped around him was laid exposed; the meat-red of his gushing heart, the relentless tremble of spongy lungs and the patient juices of his digestive system laid bare for blind eyes that could not take them in. Ridged nostrils flared, inhaling the fragrance of his yearning and heat, the scent of pooling rainwater and streaked blood that had been ripped from his core.

    Everything about the bat was poison. His blood, tainted by the necrotizing taint of his heart that desperately sought death for everything that came into contact with it, the tatter of his trembling wings that rustled like autumn leaves whose veins were no longer plump with life-sustaining water—and as the boy pleaded, his whimpering throat as raw and hot as the rest of his febrile flesh, the bat’s muscles quivered, threatened to send a venom deep inside his receptive body, too far for fingers or tongue to wipe away the hungry salt that could nibble at the softness of his organs.

    The ebb and tide of his flexing hips had built toward a nearly frenetic pace, scorching and ravenous. Now, with the ember of a snarl burning in his throat, the bat slowed, careful, delicate, reining in the slavering starvation of fangs and smoldering nerves with a world-weary patience that had taken centuries to hone. The vampire rolled the boy’s helpless flesh between his thighs, mottled and frilled with bright splashes of his lonely blood, his darkness thick with their scent of longing and pain and all manner of dark things pressed secretly the shadow and the soul.

    Tariq moved like a sleepy snake, the motion of rippling hips and sharp, curved spine liquid, potent as he pressed his lips back into the receptive flesh of the boy’s throat. There was something of hunger in the touch, a shard of urgency that suggested how desperately his fangs wanted to slit through veins and muscles until his tongue could lick the hot life from nerves laid bare; but the hot kisses only threatened violence, burning across his crawling skin like brands. The fingers that had teased and shaped the eager muscle between the omen’s thighs into a persuasive symbol of his body’s betrayal now moved with new purpose, twisting and coercing flesh into a mind-numbing blaze.

    “I can take that arrogant throat and cut it with desire.” Whispered words, languid and lazy, as though the bat were speaking sweet poetry into the skin of the boy’s neck. Another dark, heavy kiss, another flick of his cold tongue, another thrust, roll, shift of his pelvis, hips, the taut, eager muscles of his thighs as expectant as the rusted teeth of a foxtrap. “I can make you dumb with longing because every beat of your heart is for me.

    Despite the threat, deep and dark, lingering behind his words, they were crooned as thoughtfully as any love song, the verses of his cruel affection sinking into unprotected nerves that were helpless but to accept them, writing the commands into his genetic code.

    Slowly now, the pair intertwined, entangled, until it was difficult to tell where one began, bristling fur the colour of nightmares and ashen skin that had once flushed with life but was now the dull, gleaming grey of forgotten things. Slowly now, where the falling light of the boy’s erratic eyes hit the darkness, sent it spinning in lazy circles. Slowly, slowly, the bruised light leaving mottled patches on the bat’s chest. The boy was thin as a horn, so slim and mottled with bruises and blood, quiescent now. And still, the rocking of the vampire’s hungry hips was deep, intoxicating, impossible to close out. And still, the bat was urging the broken omen further and further to the edge of a sharp cliff, persuading with gentle words and firm, intimate closeness to plunge.

    Pinned down like a butterfly with resplendent wings smashed and broken, the omen’s splintered body was helpless but to bow to the bat’s patient demands. The demands were clear, writ in blood and the submission of elegantly flexing skin; outright surrender, without condition.
    avatar
    Fabien

    Posts : 182
    Join date : 2012-05-14

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Fabien on Fri Jun 01, 2012 1:46 pm

    The fox featured boy’s angular skull rolled to allow the sharp curve of his cheekbone to bless the floor, his eyes casting a beacon glow across the dark surface of the coarse carpet. It was rubbed into a rosy hue, the mocking red grease paint of a lonely Pierrot. And his lamp-lit gaze cast a solemn pathway like the flickering beacon of a light house, warning ships of what treacherous waters lay ahead. Time had slowed somehow to a lull for him, and perhaps the heated attack upon his ravaged skin had induced the gauzy reprieve. But there in the mist that clouded him, and through his sharpened senses, all he could hear were his own broken, moaning gasps. They slithered through the erratic pulse of his heart in strangely melancholic compositions, unreal to the twitch of his own cursed ears. Colours flashed through the darkness, a lightning streak of white, a thick, angry shard of crimson, and most painfully... a wave of blue. Blood splattered skies. The boy’s fingers, having relinquished their hold upon the bat’s forearm, completed the pathway of his arm which stretched limply across the floor. The curled, skeletal bones were illuminated, and suddenly clenching; clenching fierce enough to embed the dark, blackened points of his nails deep into the palms, splitting the skin like stigmata wounds until he could caress the wetness there under his thumb.

    It was incredibly easy to get lost, but the vampire’s slower, hypnotic pace charmed him back to the present. Back to that room, the one place he wished so fiercely to escape, in mind alone if not in body. He could grant his husk, but his thoughts, and heart were far harder to part with, and far more delicately broken. Fabien’s chin edged back with every slow rock, his rattling lungs expanding, his body seizing, and tightening as he locked the air within his frail chest, and released whining, shuddering tatters of it. Such breaths were loosened and unlocked silkily at the press of dark lips against his straining neck. And the omen, with bruised, haunted eyes and parted lips offered pained, hungry sighs and whimpers of longing as though his throat had been lined with honey and silk under the press of the vampire's mouth. Each note richer, more solid, and more tragically youthful. They were the cries of one discovering their flesh for the first time, not the weary, experienced rasps of a creature whose heels were black from travel.

    The touch upon boy’s nerves sparked through him, so much that his over stimulated skin caused him to flinch violently, and everything that had been loosened and calmed was reversed. He might have remained a wound coil, had the bat’s words not penetrated so fiercely, and forced him into an involuntary, burning response. Quite suddenly there was nothing but darkness as the omen’s purple eyelids were squeezed shut, and his brow etched shadows and caverns into desire consumed features. Encouraged by the call of the bat’s fingers upon his sensitive skin, the youth rose into the bat’s hand, and in doing so, rose to greet his entire body as it curled over him. The effect enticed crackles of static to course down the length of his bloodied, vulpine tail, igniting in a flare through the weary ivory tip. The breath that was expelled near the vampire’s ear after his words was a warm, moaning gush of forceful pleasure. It agreed, most pathetically, through the glisten of wet parted lips, and deep inside the unlocked soul which bowed, and broke with shuddering dismay. His neck arched towards the side of the vampire’s skull, cold, wasted skin brushing against dark fur and ivory hair in a manner that was almost tender... had it not been forced into his limbs.

    Stunned into silence, the single, aching word that parted his lips was not constructed from his mind. It came from some other plane, pleading, and tinged with sorrowful, craving need. “S’il vous plaít...” He sang, for mercy, for compassion, for release. And it was sung more sweetly than he had ever expressed it.

    Only his body sang finer, in the fluid rise of agonised hips that urged throbbing skin toward the source of that velvety fount of pleasure. Forcing him to move, to writhe beneath the canopy of quivering wings until his breath altered once more, fragmented, mutated into something as toxic as the venom which still laced his veins. No creature could sustain long under the relentless pulse of such intoxicating sensation, and soon the boy was gasping, panting, shivering with muscles tight and crackling tail folding in on itself. With an elevated groan that rose high at first, before catching at his throat, slowly, and thickly, he gave way.

    He broke in trembling, twitching relief that arched his bloodied lower back and pressed his scrawny frame tight against the vampire’s own.
    avatar
    Tariq
    Admin

    Posts : 195
    Join date : 2012-05-13

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Tariq on Fri Jun 22, 2012 12:18 am

    --The sweet pleading from the boy’s wet mouth was a tempting lure for Tariq’s hungry tongue. It slipped between the omen's lips, forcing them wider with animal pleasure. His mouth tasted hazily of blood, a lingering metallic bite as though he had copper coins pressed against his tongue. Deeper, and the faintest flavours of anise and wormwood rose, replacing the distinct cool of his body with a dark and heavy pagan heat.

    Whatever else the ensnared omen had to say was lost, sucked greedily from the dust of his asthmatic lungs into the vampire’s ravenous throat.

    A tremble crackled up the crooked vertebrae of his long spine at the boy’s shivering surrender. The angle of his hips shifted, savouring the clinging, starving rise of his frame, relishing the tortured writhing against every nerve. Something twin to a groan plucked through the bones of his chest, hot and grating but undoubtedly euphonious. The muscles of his neck tautened. As he tore himself from the tempting warmth of the omen’s mouth the point of one fine tooth nicked the tender flesh. A single drop of blood, nearly indistinguishable amid the gloom, welled up crystalline in the corner of his thin lips.

    With a gasp coloured with the barbs of a snarl, the bat pulled away in a flex of muscle and creeping bone that was torturous. For a moment, the sudden emptiness between them was agonizing, searing to the marrow. Where once there had been soft, eager warmth, an intimate puzzle of curved flesh and hot, gushing blood, there was only an anguished hollow. The soft susurrus of his trembling wings made gentle counterpoint to the long, low groan that was ripped from his throat in trembling waves.

    However, he did not yield. His body did not surrender its heat in gushing pants, despite the tree-branch trembling of his limbs and the fierce curl of bony fingers gouging through the drying sheen of murky, black blood on the threadbare carpet. Instead, he crept forward, wound around the omen like a dark snake, a cancerous vine, warming the cold shards of his old bones against the furnace of the boy’s belly. The tip of his tongue, sharp and cold as the point of a needle, flicked from his lips to savour the thick offering cooling across his stomach, laced with veins of potent blood. A lazy tremor wracked through his frame, still taut and coiled.

    The pair was fierce and unruly in the wan light from the omen’s eyes; a muddle of wild hair and blood-streaked flesh turned a lustrous pale like gleaming wood worn smooth by the melancholy rolling of the sea. There was nothing left of the rebellion that had carried them there. Now there was only the thick, charcoal darkness that stalked around the splattered scene with gloomy eyes and hungry mouths, now there was only blood and breath, hot as a dragon’s tongue, warmed by the scorching flames in their bellies that were now nothing but prickling ashes. Now there was nothing but the firefly flit of the boy’s eyes, rolling in fatigue and inexpressible suffering with pupils twitching in silent reminder of his submission.

    And now, there was nothing but the bat’s breath circling around the slender stem of his neck, the serpent-skin softness of his voice slinking through his skull, filling his head with his presence. “You are never without me.” The fragrance of his victory filled their nostrils; the scent of heated yearning and the metallic bite of blood a persuasive brew. The flick of the vampire’s tongue over the omen’s parted lips tasted of his mouth and his skin. “Because I am inside you.” The words carried all the weight of a death sentence despite their affectionate, quivering whisper.

    avatar
    Fabien

    Posts : 182
    Join date : 2012-05-14

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Fabien on Fri Jun 29, 2012 3:56 pm

    Fabien’s mouth still retained the phantom taste of copper. It was his toll to cross dark waters, burning upon the tip of his tongue and sealed in bloodied kiss at the corner of his parted, youthful lips. Doubtless, that taste would linger on for days, for months, perhaps for the rest of his eternity. It was ingrained there, along with the image, and the thought of his own breath groaning back against the vampire’s tongue.

    Their disconnection tore through the omen like a shard of hot light, causing him to rise up softly with a forceful gasp that encouraged his throat to retch air into his blackened, tight lungs. The terrible sound of it was akin to one trying to reclaim their soul, stolen as it was and detached thread by thread. His hips remained a little lifted after their severance, before finding a trembling bed back upon the bloodied floor, tentative and uncertain. And after it they remained locked in pained trembling, held there until the bat came to rest like a dark shroud upon him, the coarse fur soothing the feverish moisture of his pallid skin in a semblance of contrived comfort; his body’s final lie. The boy’s eyes had softened and become heavy, their inner light stoked to glowing warmth reminiscent of fireside, devoid of the spears of tortured thought that lurked beyond the splinters of his wretched, sickle pupils. Only his brow and the curve of his parted lips held their shadows, embedded with an anguish which coloured the boy’s mind like red ink swirling through clear waters. His features attained perfection in their melancholy, as though they were intended to always be just so. And the air around him was infused with the scent of wet grass and moonlight, seducing rains to fall and flowers to droop and sigh.

    The once hard and straining muscles of the boy’s abdomen softened like warm butter at the cool flick of the vampire’s tongue. But the boy dared not turn his gaze downward, fearful of what sight he might illuminate in the lantern glow of his sated eyes. Softly did the skeletal youth’s breathing steady, lulled by lullabies until he was scarcely audible. He thought he might slip then, mercifully, like the sands of time through death’s very clutches. Falling into some heavy sleep where nothing else could reach him, free of dreaming and blessed with the soft damp embrace of the earth. Instead he was snagged, plucked like a weary marionette by the vampire’s voice, which still echoed somewhere deep inside his skull. It was not carried through the murky chambers of hexed ears, but beneath the moist sea of wheaten hair, deeper inside.

    Child-like and entranced, the boy’s head inclined toward the bat’s voice as thought he whispered fairy-tales into their dark. And sickly brazen, the fingers of his hand moved toward their source. The gnarled twigs, the jagged fingernails embedded with years of grit and soot all became delirious feelers that tried to take root and fuse. His torture made him falsely courageous, his misery made him dumb, and he moved to touch with conjurer’s elegance, feather light to brush across the vampire’s mouth like a lover awakening from a deep sleep. It was a virgin touch, as though the boy did not recognise the beast which he has given himself to, and met him in greeting. There was newness to the touch, or perhaps... some terrible acceptance. Some symptom of complete submission, of broken will and tamed compliance. Then from there, the fingers curled and moved toward his own parted lips, tentatively exploring over the wetted curved of them with a sense of self-discovery. It was a grotesque sight, it foretold damages beyond repair, and scars that would not heal. Strangely, although his expression betrayed no great sorrow, tears fell still like glinting dark rivers from his startling eyes. The dampness there confused the youth, caused expressive fingers to move toward the hollow above his cheek bone and probe the flesh in dim perplexity.

    His entire body was weeping.

    It wept for a mind that had already forgotten its pain, and a heart that was now sealed in the command of another.

    And It wept because he was smiling.
    avatar
    Tariq
    Admin

    Posts : 195
    Join date : 2012-05-13

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Tariq on Sat Jul 07, 2012 5:59 pm

    The dim glow from the boy’s eyes could do little to illuminate the false waters of dark blood that supported the pair. The light faltered over the deadly curve of claws tightened possessively over grey flesh; grew weary of lighting the deep stain of sightless eyes resting on the thin shell of his chest. Tariq twisted over the omen in terrible, web-winged dominance, his sprawl some horrific offspring of lover and gore-crow.

    He allowed the touch to his bloodied lips in blind silence. The phantom of a smile possessed his mouth, curving dark lips upward only enough to reveal a faint glint of bone in his jaw. The perilous weapons, still stained with skeins of softening blood, were moon-gentle, bestowed the illusion of softness by the flickering light from behind stormy eyes. When the boy’s gentle fingertips left for his own mouth, the spindly crawl of the bat’s long digits followed.

    Tenderly, the skeletal fingers traced his smile. A coil of something electric and laced with fierce, predatory satisfaction trembled down the bones of his long spine, setting his dark wings to a dry shaking. Fingertips traced the hard line of his chin, pressing into febrile flesh as though he were forming the angular bones out of clay. They stroked the thin stem of his quivering throat contemplatively. He worked the taut skin with gentle thoughtfulness.

    “Do not weep, little fox.” His voice was something out of a primeval cathedral, fed by the gravity of a thousand worshipers’ frantic hymns and resonating with the quiet power of dark, sacred places. “It is not such a dismal fate, to feel me inside of you. You shall be like a lion among wolves with my shadow in your veins.” He dropped to a whispered sigh as nostalgia rotted the core of his words. His fingers continued to trace the ridges of his neck in soft, meditative strokes. “And you have the assurance riding deep in your breastbone that you will never have any other gravedigger than I. Such an honour for my mangy fox to know he will never taste death until I rip out his dripping throat.”

    The spidery crawl of his fingers ceased their contemplation of the boy’s throat to slink across the wetness beneath his eyes. His palm rested over bruised eyelids, forcing an unnatural blindness to fall like a dark shroud over his tightened senses. When he spoke, his breath was cool against the taut chords of the omen’s throat.

    “Now, beloved,” The weight of his palm grew heavy enough to force his eyelids close, his touch still tender. “Sleep.” The boy’s exhausted body and shivering mind were little match for the velvet suggestion of the bat’s voice, and it was likely he succumbed in a single, ragged breath to whatever toothed darkness awaited him.

    Sponsored content

    Re: Act I- A punishment to some, to some a gift

    Post  Sponsored content


      Current date/time is Wed Dec 13, 2017 3:27 pm