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    And the unclean will see in it their own shame

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    Tariq
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    And the unclean will see in it their own shame

    Post  Tariq on Tue May 16, 2017 1:22 am

    It was difficult to imagine the boy’s return to consciousness would not be a painful one.

    He had suffered greatly at the hands of the merciless stranger who had invaded his cell and cleaved what he liked from his shivering flesh. His pale skin was mottled with the rose-rot reds and purples of fresh bruising, welts risen in darkened coins where the skin lay too close to the jut of bone. His thin wrists were blackened and raw from his frantic escape attempts against coarse rope. The stranger’s sharp mouth had coaxed puckered wounds to rise from the curve of his hip, his shoulder and, of course, the dreadful slashes across his throat where he had taken his blood.

    These were not yet closed and the skin was ghastly white where it rose against the edges of the injury. Flecks of dried blood still clung to his neck in patches of rust. The stranger had taken - drank - enough of the boy’s blood to deplete his veins dangerously. His heart would be sure to feel the deficit.

    His body was coated in filth, his hair matted in strands along the back of his neck. He was entirely naked - the remnants of his rags were gone, and he was clad only in grime and bruises. His innards were apt to be as raw and bruised as his pain-dappled skin.

    This wretched creature was no longer in the bed to which he had been chained. He had been transported from one to another; this new bed, however, was clearly not within the same dingy brothel. For one, it was luxuriously soft. The boy’s thin body sank into it, leaving an impression like the scoop of a fox within her den. For another, this room was all wrong. It was dark and cool, like the heart of a cave. Wan light bled in, stained a mysterious, arterial red that flushed the walls crimson.

    The boy would not have much of an opportunity to further investigate the room. The dark curtains of the bed in which he rested had been drawn, enclosing him in a space not entirely unlike that of a crypt. All he could glimpse was a streak of scarlet in the gap between ashy fabric.

    Around the boy’s slender waist, slung with nonchalant ease, was an arm. The arm was attached to a shape at his back that stirred with gentle breathing. The stranger’s cruel mouth was near enough the back of the boy’s neck for him to feel the warmth of his breath fluttering along the skin. Blankets obscured much of his body but his torso was bare where it pressed into the boy’s back. It appeared he was, for the moment, lost to sleep.

    There was one final indignity the boy would discover upon awaking. His every movement was haunted by the faintly sweet tinkling of bells. The boy was nude - save for the thin bands of bells around his slender ankles. They were no doubt a parting gift from the establishment from which he had just been sprung. The steel links of the chain appeared sturdy and resistant to prying and a small lock on each end suggested they would not be removed without a key.
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    Fabien

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    Re: And the unclean will see in it their own shame

    Post  Fabien on Mon May 29, 2017 2:05 pm

    The boy’s dreams had been loud, feverish. They had fallen together in fragments; splinters of voices, high pitched shrieking, and the sensation of hands tugging on his limbs. It had felt as if they were pulling upon his arms and legs, straining the joints, threatening to tear him apart. He had shivered against the vampire’s chest, his bruised body twitching in a fear that would leave his muscles aching when he woke.

    It was his thirst which finally dragged him from those dreams. It was the first conscious thought that grew within his brain, ‘satisfy that thirst, find water.’ Then not far behind it, came a creeping symphony of agony.

    The boy’s finely shaped eyes peeled open. The skin around them so dark and hollow, they made a skull of his youthful features. He blinked slowly, trying to clear the dull mist that coated his vision. Then the room began to creep into focus, a blur of shadows, tinged with something dull like blood.

    Fabien released a soft, rasping moan and attempted to stir. Every twitch of muscle plucked some new chord of pain into singing. This place, wherever it was, did not smell like the brothel.  And for a sweet second, hope bloomed like light within the boy’s unhappy heart. Perhaps he had been rescued, perhaps he was safe now.

    It was then he realised that he was not alone.

    The boy’s exhausted heart quickened its pace. He could feel the weight of it now, the arm tucked about him.  His storm cloud eyes lowered, feeling their way over the wretched landscape of bruises and cuts inflicted on his pale skin. He paused on the arm, resting with such wretched familiarity on his body.

    Recognition caused the youth’s entire body to grow cold. The memories returned with painful clarity, breaking upon the surface of his skin in a fine sheen of sweat. He knew that arm, that hand, the same one that had torn his clothes from him. He could see it even now, sweeping over his body, his mouth, everywhere. He could smell him still upon his skin.

    A soft whimper of unhappiness rose up within his throat.

    The boy immediately attempted to move, struggling through the tangled web of bedding. The sheets were almost gummed to his neck, clinging jealously to the ruined skin. The urchin raised trembling fingers, and attempted to peel the material free. His throat was ringed with the memory of the stranger’s belt, a dark blush upon his flesh. He paused to look in horror at his wrists, the skin so burnt and wretched it had started to blacken.

    He caught the edge of the bed with one hand, and began to slowly, slowly haul his body forward. His progress was inefficient, and frustrating. But he achieved his aim, edging a fraction away from the creature at his side.  

    He did not notice the bells, their sweet sound a betrayal of his most subtle movements. His mind, too distorted with panic and exhaustion, paid no mind to their mocking echo. He thought only to get away, to crawl if he had to, from this nightmare.
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    Tariq
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    Re: And the unclean will see in it their own shame

    Post  Tariq on Thu Jun 29, 2017 8:20 pm

    The stranger, curled in the hollow of his bed like a predator at rest, did not awaken in fits and starts. There was no delicious stretching of long limbs, no blinking away the light from those unwholesomely dead eyes. As the boy jostled at his side, laboriously gaining precious little ground, the stranger moved from deep, even slumber to wakefulness with no transition. His pale eyes opened and in the same breath he reached for the struggling boy.

    He pulled him closer, undoing his painstaking progress at inching away in a single, easy motion, and rolled him over to his back. His strength had not waned in the night. He maneuvered the urchin as easily as if he were a half-drowned kitten. His hands were presumptuous and possessive and did not seek to make the change any easier for his battered guest.

    Once he was on his back, the stranger held him there with his own torso, crushing him against the bed. It took little effort to pin the boy. His bare skin was warm, an ochre flush heating his tawny chest.

    The bells around the boy’s ankle weakly protested. The sound was strangled by the blankets tangled about his legs.

    The stranger dipped his head and inhaled the scent of the hair gathered at the back of the boy’s neck. Pale strands of his unbound hair slithered across the urchin’s throat. His eyes glittered with cruel mirth.

    “Good morning, boy.” That same vicious delight skittered across the words whispered breathily into his ear. “I hope you do not protest the change of scenery; after the diverting evening we shared, it seemed a shame to leave you.” His fingers caressed the great black and wine bruise that ringed his throat like the neck of a dove. It would not feel pleasant.

    “I thought I might have a private encore.” His voice was nearly a crooning growl of fierce pleasure. “Or, if you are good, several.” His mouth found the nick on his ear where his teeth had bloodied the night prior. Had circumstances been different, his tongue running along its edge might have coaxed a moan from his guest.
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    Fabien

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    Re: And the unclean will see in it their own shame

    Post  Fabien on Sun Jul 02, 2017 3:46 pm

    As the stranger’s arm slid about him, the urchin’s fear shivered electric through his starved limbs. His skin had started to grow cold and clammy to the touch, despite the warmth which radiated around him.

    The boy whined like a long tortured hound. Almost t immediately he began to struggle, to free himself with the weak kicking of his thin limbs. His efforts were laughable, the limp writhing of a netted fish. This upset the boy further, and as he was turned onto his spine, a snarling cry of despair parted his teeth.

    The youth’s writing protests were instantly subdued by the vampire’s weight on his chest. The boy’s breath grew more laboured, but he refused to turn his head towards the stranger, to meet the pale eyes and mocking lips. It was only when his hand settled upon the raw agony that was his bruised and blackened throat, that the boy
    acknowledged him. It was then he turned his finely shaped eyes towards the vampire. They had become fierce with anger, the skin around his grey pupils so red it looked as if the boy had wept tears of blood. His entire body shivered in pain.

    “You .. you cut me.” He managed to rasp, his mouth and tongue parched with thirst.  “Why did you...? ”  He trailed off wearily, as though trying to recall how he had fallen into a sleep so dark. His voice was so low, so full of soft confusion, it made the boy’s age achingly apparent.

    “Where? Ils vous ont permis de me prendre?” He rasped in disbelief. It seemed as if he believed being sold to such a creature, one who had hurt him so profoundly, was somehow a terrible betrayal. That perhaps he had expected the brothel’s protection, that he had some value to them.

    The urchin lapsed once more into a sullen silence, as the terrible realisation of his situation began to dawn on the boy. His eyes became glassy, his expression vacant. Soon his body had started to tremble so fiercely his teeth rattled together.  

    The stranger’s tongue on his skin caused Fabien to flinch. The boy began to struggne anew, managing to wriggle an arm free and raise a hand in a bitter attempt to strike at the vampire’s shoulder. If it landed, the punch was sure to be so light, so frail, it would cause a sob to catch in the boy’s throat.

    “Non.” He rasped shakily, as though he were politely declining an offer to partake of lunch with the stranger.  

    “Non I won’t. No not again.  Not with you. “He hissed as his tangled legs struck out at the sheets that bound them.  The bells about his ankles almost seemed to mock his attempts with their softly ringing laughter.

    Monstre. Pervetir. Tu n'as pas de droit!.”  The urchin croaked, his voice crackling like the embers of a rekindled fire.
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    Tariq
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    Re: And the unclean will see in it their own shame

    Post  Tariq on Mon Jul 24, 2017 11:19 pm

    The boy’s weak thrashing did little to discourage the stranger. With his weight pinning him to the bed, it would be difficult even were he not half-starved and beaten to dislodge him.

    When the stranger’s sharp teeth were bared in this mockery of a savage grin his features became wolfish, his pale eyes like the eyes of a strange, night-drenched animal. “Comme je le rappelle,” he said. “You cut me first - with my own blade, no less. We will call it self-defense.”

    The boy’s dismay only seemed to encourage his host. “Did you think they would protect you?” The words were mocking, razor-sharp and aimed for his soft tissue. “They made a gift of you to me, and sent us off with cheery waves and smiles. One would think they were glad to be rid of you.”

    Whatever else he had to say was interrupted by the attempt to strike at him. The weak blow landed on his upper arm and the stranger easily snagged the boy’s wrist, stilling it in his hand.

    However, it was the repetition of “no” that stirred him into action. He did not have the leverage for a proper teeth-rattling slap but the force of his palm across the boy’s mouth was sure to sting. Without pause, he wrapped the same hand around the slender curve of his guest’s throat in a grip tight enough to have him gasping for air within seconds.

    “That is an ugly word for such a beautiful whore mouth,” he hissed. “I will only be doing you a favour when I cut it from your tongue.” The crook between his thumb and forefinger - currently pressed on the dark bruise of the boy’s windpipe - tightened brutally and then relented enough to allow a slither of air to his lungs.

    “Consider your circumstances, boy.” He spoke precisely, each word clear in his mouth as though the boy were an attentive pupil and not struggling for air beneath his hand. “If you think I shan’t have what I want from you regardless of how prettily you surrender it, you are a fool. But what happens to you when I am done, hm?”

    The stranger leaned forward, close enough now to nuzzle the boy’s cheek with his mouth. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? Aching for sleep? I doubt you rested easily with your veins emptied and your heart so frail. No,” his tongue clicked against his teeth in a parody of concern. “You will not go on much longer without my good graces. Or, if you prefer to struggle without them, I will shackle that pretty throat to the floor and sleep sweetly listening to you starve beneath my heel.”

    There could be little doubt the stranger was naked beneath the blanket that concealed him from the waist down; there was a growing firmness pressing against the boy’s hips at this litany of cruelties.

    “So it would be in your best interest,” he continued coolly. “To bite your tongue before I bite it for you. Comprenez-vous?” He did not release the poor boy’s throat to allow him an answer.
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    Fabien

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    Re: And the unclean will see in it their own shame

    Post  Fabien on Sun Aug 06, 2017 1:46 pm

    The urchin’s storm cloud eyes flitted warily over the stranger’s mouth. He caught sight of those teeth, shining like daggers at the edge of his smile. At once the boy’s mind returned unhappily to his last remaining memories of that room, unearthing the distorted fragments that came back to him before he slipped into nothingness. He could see the stranger there, raised above him. He could feel his mouth at his throat, the hot press of his tongue, his teeth.

    The boy suddenly shuddered fiercely, his throat muscles clenching and a soft, choking noise slipping from past his teeth. His skin had turned very cold and clammy, and his hair, blood stained and filthy, clung to his sweat beaded brow.

    “Un cadeau?” he managed to enquire weakly, his voice cracked and trembling.

    The boy fell quiet, his darkly ringed eyes growing wide at the stranger’s words. The youth had neither the energy not ability to move, but his body still squirmed softly beneath his captor’s weight.

    Pourquoi m'as-tu amené ici? What do you-“He attempted in speak in a vicious hiss, before being sharply silenced by the stranger’s hand.

    The urchin yelped in pain, the flesh about his mouth burning and colouring at the cruel contact. He released a soft, strangled sob as the stranger’s hand enclosed about his slim, pale neck.

    Thereafter, the urchin’s struggling, squirming movements began to lessen.  Soon the only sounds that came from his lips were soft, tortured choking breaths as the boy fought against his panic.  His dark eyelids fluttered as he strove to achieve a sufficient lungful of air, and his fingertips and blood encrusted nails scored weakly over the stranger’s hand. The boy was at last left clinging fearfully to hand which bound him by the throat.

    Slowly he began to grow still. And the pale fingertips which had once been half-clawing at vampire’s knuckles, turned pleading in their weakened strokes. He began to paw at him gently, groping in desperate supplication. He sought to convey that he understood the hateful creature’s words, that he would be quiet and good.

    But despite his pain and contrived softness, the urchin’s bruised eyes were burning hatefully within his skull.  A steady stream of tears had begun to slip from the corner of his eyes, falling unrelentingly over the sharp curve of his cheeks.

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