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    Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

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    Fabien

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    Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Mon Mar 10, 2014 4:36 pm

    Such was the price of obedience.

    The cost of diligently sleeping in the vampire’s darkness.  Sleep was an uneasy visitor, and she offered no peace, and no empathy. But such dreams, always such terrible dreams.

    This one was not unusual, though it was by far the worst. It had begun somewhat pleasantly, with a hunt, the stalking of something pure, bright and without corruption. A virgin, perhaps, who he might make lose her betrothed to a nasty bout of consumption. He had spent an entire summer pursuing those, once. He followed her down endless stretches of corridor, his fingers primed to inflict countless, unfortunate miseries. But just as he reached her, his wrists were suddenly locked together. The grey flesh between them congealed and fused, and despite his frantic attempts to unbind them, remained cuffed.

    The vision wavered, and with new clarity it became apparent his wrists were not held by unseen forces, but gripped by dark, elegant fingers. Fingers that pulled and guided him away from his prize, away from the light, until he was bound against something hard with his hands high above his twitching foxen ears.
    His senses were sharply invaded by the scent of wet fur, cold lips against his skin, and teeth sharp as razor blades searing across his cheek. Fingers that were no longer bound moved to sift through that fur, and press into firm muscle with some tangible familiarity, some sense of purpose.  He felt his skin rupture, a sensation that was deformed into the most exquisite pleasure. And soon each wound was greeted with such affection, the arching of the neck, a mouth that strained to apply thankful kiss after kiss.

    But when that kiss was returned, it was much too deep. His mouth began to fill with blood, blood which guttered down the sides of his lips, and continued to well behind his teeth until he desperately sought to swallow it. It was consuming him, choking him, drowning...

    Fabien gasped himself to freedom with a small, sharp cry. His entire body jolted to the side, one arm straight, black fingernails searing across the floor. He fought to regulate his breathing, but each rattling exhale remained punctuated by a small, troubled whine.  And there was something unpleasantly tight at the back of his throat, a stifled desire to retch, incited by wave upon wave of nausea. When the need to empty his cursed, useless stomach had passed, the omen lowered shakily back to the floor. Strands of curling wheaten hair were plastered to his glistening brow, forcing his shabby attire to cling ever tighter to cold, sweat bathed skin. The boy shuddered, and pulled anxiously at the collar of his striped shirt, loosening it from his scarred flesh as though it were a noose.

    There had been no dreams before the bat.

    At least, none that he could remember, none that held any weight and clarity like these, so painful in their intensity, their scalding realism. He blamed these walls, and being forced to rest here in the pitch dark, like some tomb, as oppressive and stifling as the moist air of the catacombs.  

    The youth’s trembling fingers pawed stupidly at the tangled hair about the base of his ear, working free a filthy, shabbily rolled cigarette he had likely pilfered from a dock hand. A match too had been stowed away, and was wrestled free from its hiding place like contraband. He had little idea whether the bat did not allow fire within his premises, nor did he entirely care. The weak, trembling flame cheerily penetrated the darkness, and was fondly shielded by the boy’s palm. It cast brilliant light across the walls and floor, each warm patch filled with the omen’s sharp eared silhouette.
    He inhaled deeply, desperate for some relief, something to stifle the violence of his nervous convulsions.
    He told himself he would ration it, just a quick draw, just a breath of fire-light quickly stolen before the bat could detect it. But the warmth of the match felt so good, and the sweetly scented smoke deliciously washed away the haunting memory of blood. The boy curled his limbs inwardly, and rolled his tongue over jagged rows of chattering teeth.

    Slowly, and with fond slyness, his mangled foxen tail coiled in and against his chest like a serpent; diligently concealing the throbbing hardness between the boy’s thighs.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Tue Mar 11, 2014 3:10 pm

    Tariq had not returned to his darkness for several nights. It was impossible to guess where he disappeared to in these extended absences, but he always returned with charcoal-smeared eyelids and a gauntness in his ribs that betrayed his continued hunger. Wherever he disappeared to, he certainly did not feed.

    Wherever he had been, he had returned, stepping silently down the corridor with his wings folded softly at his shoulders, house slaves knowing instinctively to step out of his path without offering their aid to the death-eyed dignitary in their midst.

    It had likely been the boy’s awakening cry that prompted him to pause at the entrance to his den with long ears tipped forward. The tips of his long fingers shuddered against the wood with a rasp of claw. The bat’s black lips pulled back from his teeth as he stepped forward to enter.

    For a moment, his silhouette was starkly outlined in the light pouring in from the hall; a gargoyle of cuttingly glinting claws and sharp ears, having nearly to bow his head to pass beneath the door frame. A flick of his wrist snapped the heavy door to a close and they were once more bathed in his thick, clinging darkness. Created in the contrast of the thin light in the omen’s hand, shadows gathered at their master’s feet, tumbling beneath the webbed canopy of his wings like eager hounds.

    He discarded something and it fell to the ground with a heavy clink next to the door to be forgotten for now. His wings unwound from their fold at his side to brush their ragged edges to the floor.

    The smoke tangled in his sharp nose, uncomfortably muting his senses. Broad ears flicked irritably against cobwebs of his hair but he did not reprimand. He canted his skull, long muzzle pointed almost coyly as though the scent of the omen’s dreams still lingered beneath the veil of smoke, as though the ghost of his fear and arousal still saturated the walls.

    Honor your hunger.” Weariness rasped a vulture’s tongue at the back of his throat that did nothing to soften the cunning instruction in his toothed mouth. It seemed the only greeting the fox-eared boy would have as he stepped forward with the weight of fatigue, the hard edges of his too-jutting bones suggesting the craving for sleep nestled beneath his breastbone.
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    Fabien

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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Thu Mar 13, 2014 3:31 pm

    Fabien startled violently at the vampire’s entrance. He quickly shook out the match with one flick of a bony wrist, hushing the gesture like a mischievous school boy caught in some small act of rebellion.  The smouldering tobacco remained pinched between his cracked lips, a luxury he would not part with so readily, not while his heart continued to flutter like a trapped moth.

    Slowly the cursed youth drew one leg in towards his stomach, and slipped the flat of his palm beneath his cheek as though he were merely reading his body for further rest. The black splinters of his eyes flitted once, twice to his Master’s silhouette, but never remained there for any duration. He’d rather stare out into the black instead, into the ruined walls which still retained dreadful black splatters of old blood.

    The bats words were digested slowly, rolled through the boy’s thoughts until he could fashion an adequate response.  “Qu'est-ce?”he rasped softly,  one charcoal furred ear twitching anxiously against his hair. He’d intended his tone to be vague, sleepily unaware. But it wasn’t. Instead, he sounded strained, strained and painfully nervous. The omen’s entire body was stiff and tense, so much so that every muscle, every old joint slowly begun to groan in protest. Beads of cold sweat had began to slide like rain drops down the side of his jaw, the scent of storm clouds and smoke collecting in his hair.

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He murmured shakily, raising a filthy thumb and forefinger to snuff out the burning end of his cigarette. “Je dois dormir. Je suis fatigué.”

    Fabien curled his skeletal fingers deep into the coarse, smoky fur that was coiled against his chest. He willed silently for the swollen flesh that was pressed against his stomach to forget its misguided appetite.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Sun Mar 23, 2014 2:19 pm

    Tariq was more concerned with stepping out of the rest of his clothes, fingers skillfully fiddling with buckles and hems, than the omen’s nervous denial. However, the boy’s anxious murmuring earned him an impassive and thoroughly useless pass of black eyes as the bat worked the last of his clothes loose. He shook himself free and shrugged them to the floor before turning to the omen, dressed only in the shroud of his wings and a delicate mantle of fatigue.

    “Fabien.”

    The wide-mouthed yawn was likely theatrics as the inhaled air only whistled uselessly through withered lungs, long tongue curled over the shadowed curves of his pointed teeth. The silence that blanketed the dark room seemed deeper following the low hiss of the cigarette being extinguished between the boy's fingers.

    “You are painfully boring when you lie to me.” It was a lazy reprimand, the bat’s voice soft and venomous as the slither of a serpent. He dropped to the ground in a beast-like crouch, his heavy wings wilting like a black blanket of winter at his back. Lazily, he settled himself in a corner painted dark with shadow.

    “Come here.” It was not an invitation, but an idle command. “If you are so tired, we will sleep.” The soft barb was muffled by the thick fabric of a wing tucked, bird-like, over his head, his voice already slipping into the hushed sotto voce of sleep.
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    Fabien

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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Sun Mar 23, 2014 3:26 pm

    The grey skinned youth maintained the illusion of utter exhaustion, of sleep. Thin, bone-white fingers working repetitively through the coarse strands of his cursed tail, probing delicately at the fur as though it were a child’s play thing. The omen’s gently beaming gaze slowly reduced to two thin sickles of light, illuminating the sharp contours of his pallid face. At the sound of his name, his foxen ears sliced irritably back against his crown. The boy nestled into the unforgiving ground, his shoulders arched defensively like twin spikes as though he had no intention of moving from his nominated bed.

    But the soft, scuffling sounds of action in the darkness signified otherwise.

    And after slowly the sweeping the back of a bony hand across his lips, Fabien arose, hauling his yellow bones on hand and scuffed knee like an old dog welcoming his master home. The omen’s joints creaked and snapped like firewood as he crawled closer, his path lit by dull light of his pulsating eyes. And, after having obeyed with minimal effort, the demon child slumped faithfully upon his stomach at the bat’s heels.

    It was of course somewhat of a tactful move, one which allowed him to begin curling back into his former position, thankful for the crackling, white-starred tail curling about his thigh.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Sun Mar 30, 2014 5:33 pm

    Tariq had continued to settle into the corner he had claimed for the night as the boy reluctantly approached, his body a bristling knot of black wing and fur. A sharp snap of teeth from the den of darkness behind the veil of his wings suggested another bestial yawn; this one, perhaps, more the ghost of a remembered gesture than any theatrics. He idly shifted as though to make room for the omen at his side.

    The boy’s soft collapse at the bat’s feet was met with a soft, impatient snarl that caught hoarse at the back of his throat. His heavy wings rose like a corpse from a coffin and his muscles tensed as he sat up only long enough to hook one arm around the omen’s torso. He hoisted him upwards, just as one would a rag doll, thoughtless to the splay of the boy’s limbs that were apt to bend painfully at the sudden movement, and flung him to the floor beside him to be nuzzled greedily to his chest like a wolf with a bloodied bone as he folded back into the floor.

    He exhaled softly, his breath cool where it met skin, and pressed the omen captive between the cage of his arms. It seemed he had been made content by the closeness of the omen's skin, for his hands held no malice as they lazily slipped down the gaunt curve of his waist. It was unfortunate, how low his languid hands chose to roam; more unfortunate still the stiff ridge of skin still pressed against the boy’s hollow stomach that had not quite had the time to soften. The brush of the bat’s fingers faltered as though in mild surprise at the flesh that pressed so insistently against their pads, before curling possessively around the skin with a wicked glee that was nearly palpable.

    “Je dois dormir, monsieur.” He breathed the words into the skin at the back of the boy’s neck, the mockery a barbed undercurrent beneath the softness of his tone. “Je suis fatigue, indeed. What has my little fox dreamt in my absence?”

    He shifted to his back to allow his hands better access to the omen’s thighs, still protected by their flimsy cover of cloth. The movement served to bind the boy even further against the vampire’s chest, locked between his arms.

    “What hunger—“ The words were thick in his throat, blown from his lips like the smoke the omen still reeked of. Despite their quiet venom, they were still cobwebbed with a sleepy laziness. “—are we to honor tonight, beloved?” It could not be mistaken for anything less than a question, a question poised as dangerously as the fingers that drummed gently against the club-marked flesh in the crook of shivering pelvis.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Sun Mar 30, 2014 8:03 pm

    Though the cursed youth cringed back reluctantly from the approaching grasp, he did not fight it. Instead, he sought to make himself small and insubstantial. The snare was an easy one, and Fabien settled into it as awkwardly as a Sheppard boy bedding down for the night with rabid wolves.

    Once encased in the bat’s arms, the boy immediately turned as hard as marble; and he dared not even allow his lungs to fill as deeply as they required.  Perhaps he imagined that through such an act he could coax the vampire into sleep more quickly, as so often happened in fairytales and lore.  And yet his strained, fretful mock-death so easily melted into nothingness as the vampire’s touch glided across his flesh. The boy’s wrist jerked involuntarily, old bone striking old bone in a sharp, strangely ceremonial solemnity.  Though barred by the cage of the bat’s arms, that wrist remained in position, fingers sealed together in a determined fist. Colour rose hotly to the sunken hollows of his cheeks, spread forth in a line that seared down the length of his back.

    It was difficult to tell from which he derived the most irritation: That he had been discovered wanting, or that the bat’s touch effortlessly provoked further excitement. When the vampire spoke, Fabien’s ashen neck arched slowly, muscle and sinew flexing beneath his skin like a stirring python. The back of his skull brushed against the inside of the bat’s arm, and though his lips parted, no coherent answer was initially produced, only a low, faltering breath of air.  

    “I only...only dream of... good things” he croaked, voice splitting and disintegrating with all the fragility of old glass.  He sounded so weak, so disorientated. “Mon évasion de vous, for example” the boy breathed. If he had intended it to be venomous, it was a miserable disappointment, ineffective and diluted.  It was hard to keep up such pretense when the flesh the bat idly toyed with hardened so, when it twitched with such enthusiasm.

    Somewhere in-between their distance, what frail, imagined distance that there had been between their bodies, was further diminished. This time Fabien had closed it, firmly and insistently, with his gently curving spine sealed against the bat’s chest. His skin was trembling.

    At first there was only silence, silence adorned with his deep, rattling breath.  Then, like a match in the dark, a reply:

    “Will...  you take it from me, Monsieur?”  Each word was a painful extraction, and his mouth struggled to accommodate the awkward fit. He rarely made such requests, they were wrong, corrosive. But this one came again, and he laboured to give it more clarity than the last.

    S’il vous plait... take it from me.”

    The effect was not unlike a wounded animal begging release from a trap.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Sun Apr 20, 2014 5:53 pm

    Tariq’s fingers rolled keenly over the discovery of club-kissed skin. The skin taut and thirsty in his palm had transformed him. It shook the cobweb of fatigue from his limbs and sharpened him into a beast of slavering jaws and profound hunger, cunning claws curled over gasping flesh that pressed back against him just as eagerly.

    The liquid black of his eyes narrowed to sharp crescents at the boy’s words. His lips parted, wet teeth a startling, clean ivory in his mouth. Whatever he had intended to say was stolen from his lungs by the boy’s sudden lunge backward that pressed his spine against the vampire’s chest, his teeth coming together with a snap that was audible in the dark. The spidery splay of his unoccupied fingertips shifted along the contours of the boy’s slight hips, creeping softly along the hard edge of his sternum before slinking upward to the lace of old scars and taut cords at his throat where they lingered.

    The shadows bruised him. They dappled him in heady darkness and made the wetting of his fingers between his lips a shaky mirage; an unreality shattered by their abrupt return between the boy’s legs, slickened and ravening.

    What do you want me to take?” It was a snarl, its edges a shade too rough, the urgency pulsing jagged and raw through the syllables.

    With a sudden heave of wing he pulled himself upright and, in the same easy motion, straddled the boy’s hips, the cloth that had shielded them now disheveled and pulled down nearly to his bony knees. He gathered the fabric that bound the boy’s chest in his hands and ripped it upwards and off as though he would shed his twilight skin with his clothes to reveal the delicate machinations of his blue-grey lungs, the wetness of his heart blooming red like rose hips bursting seed in the barren cavity of his ribs. The boy had little chance to resist, the bat single-mindedness and rough in his keening urgency.

    “I can take your arrogant throat and cut it with desire.” The words trembled with the fine filaments of a barely-constrained restraint. “I can take your scathing tongue and muzzle you with longing.” This proved too much of a lure to resist and his mouth met his omen’s with a clash of teeth as though he meant to devour him. A sharp tooth caught the flesh and a bead of scarlet frilled into a hem of blood. It reddened his lips, the heat rouging his cheeks into a showman’s extravagance as though the bat were preparing him for the stage.

    The trembling omen was covered with the bat’s shadow, doused in his scent. He bowed his head, cascading white hair about them like a ghostly halo to pant softly in one sharp ear. “But it will wound you, my little fox. It will wound you sorely.”
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Tue Apr 22, 2014 8:20 pm


    The muscle and tendons of the omen’s scarred neck flexed beneath the bat’s fingers, his pulse was violent and uneven. And when that slickened touch returned to his demanding skin, it robbed the air from the boy’s rotten lungs. From deep within his throat, a dry whine like the singing chord of a broken violin fragmented, and was swallowed.

    But Fabien couldn’t say it. His quivering lips struggled to shape the words, and the tautening muscles of his stomach spoke of tortuous internal conflict; yet his tongue remained bolted, the answer did not come.
    But not all was silence.

    There was the slow, sensual arching of his lower back, the press of his hips firm against the bat’s lower body. In this, the message had perfect clarity:

    Me.

    My flesh, my blood. Given freely to you, without restraint, without refusal. And whatever you may want of me. Everything.

    All this, until the sharpness of the vampire’s movement startled the omen from his stupor. His elbow twisted uncomfortably, catching the sleeve of his shirt which clung stubbornly to his forearms, reluctant to part ways. Panicked by the restriction, the cursed youth fidgeted nervously, seeking to unbind himself until the bat’s words made him pause. Then Fabien’s bright eyes lifted to meet the bat’s own, his brow flinching in pained recognition. But it was brief, for he was far too lost to think on it deeply, too lost and confused to ponder its implications. The boy’s breath shuddered wantonly against the bat’s lips, the flesh between his thighs throbbing, unfulfilled. His master’s warning did not go unacknowledged.

    And then, just as if this were not some dangerous game, as if he had not stepped boldly into the lion’s den, he pulled back.

    “I-I didn’t mean it,” Fabien whispered, his tired gaze flitting erratically from the bat’s eyes to his mouth. There were pauses, so many terrified pauses as he struggled to explain.

    “It is sickness... from being in here,”
    “I cannot sleep in here, Monsieur.”
    “I need... lamp-light... and... stars,”

    Pas cette obscurité
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Fri Apr 25, 2014 3:52 pm

    A soft growl slipped from Tariq’s throat as the omen's pelvis arched upward to meet his own. His long body responded in kind, his hips grinding hot and hard to force his spine painfully against the floor. He could not resist another taste of his heaving mouth. The bat bent his maned head like a great wolf and savoured the taste of his frantic heat on his forked tongue. The cruel kiss muzzled him, greedily sucked the air from asthmatic lungs.

    However, the boy’s disjointed denial had the bat shuddering to a halt. His fist clenched, claws raking an insensitive trail across the boy's inner thigh as he braced himself against the floor and lifted his head. His eyes were terrible pits of black in the dark, like the holes of a skull picked clean by a vulture’s hungry beak.

    "Alea iacta est." The words spat, crackling hot, from his throat, betraying his impatience. He exhaled slowly, the breath whispering in his throat. It tickled the flesh of the boy’s bare neck near where his mouth rested. "That is not what I asked."

    The bat folded a long palm, still slick, over the boy's bruised eyelids. It pressed uncomfortably against the trembling balls of his soft eyes. He held it there, the points of his claw prickling the skin of his cheek, in silence, his unoccupied hand curling loosely about the omen’s scarred throat as though in an instinctive gesture.

    "Then speak from darkness." He had managed to regain a hair of his bolting composure, although a faint shiver still haunted his wings and the muscles of his thighs tucked against the omen’s torso were painfully taut. The softest flush of anger heated the syllables. "And tell me what it is you want me to take from you.” His dreadful teeth came together with a click, biting the sentence neatly in half.

    For a moment silence filled the room to bursting, chiseled away only by their shaky breathing and the soft susurrus of dried wing rattling a faint grave-song in the darkness.

    "Or--" The word was a sigh, the weight of fatigue abruptly returning to his voice. He closed his eyes. His chest expanded as air filled his rotten lungs. "--I will cleave what I will from you in bloody rags. We have been here before, Fabien."
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Sat Apr 26, 2014 3:45 pm

    Somewhere in-between Fabien had lost his sharp edges. They had been blunted by clever fingers, smoothed as inevitably as glass caught in the lip of the sea. The mouth the bat pressed into had briefly softened, opened instead of barring the way with angry teeth and curling lips. The flush of his warm breath had been tinged with the most delicate trace of a moan. And after the bat’s skull had turned away from him, the boy’s neck had remained arched upwardly like a swan, the muscle straining. They were lost too quickly, shadowed by a sharp, startled cry as the cursed youth felt the vampire’s claws rake the sensitive flesh of his thigh. With it, his body surged upright, and his bony shoulders rose as much as they could from the hard floor.

    It was on the vampire’s insistence that he provide some vocal request which turned his tongue sour, and encouraged childish frustration to pierce into his reply.“You put... these splinters... under my skin, and then make me ask you to remove them. And I would rather they fester,” he hissed, vulpine tail whipping in an angry crackle against the bat’s knee.

    But the omen’s entire body too was quivering with restraint, his splintered black fingernails so deeply embedded into the palms of his hands that soon blood welled about the fingertips. And when the bat’s fingers lowered upon his eyes like a shroud, he fell perfectly still, pacified by so horrible a threat those precious parts of his anatomy.

    As to what his master might take from him, there were numerous perfect answers, many hostile, stupid things to suggest. The emptiness, perhaps? The confusion, the nightmares... oh, if only to remove those. But the gleaming, engorged flesh that speared against his stomach begged only to be sated, and prompted by the implications of the vampire’s last words, he stumbled back into a reply.

    “I want...”

    “I... need you to take away this heat...”

    “This craving.”

    Slowly the long, blood tipped fingers of his trembling hands slithered to crown the bat’s own like shards of moonlight. The touch was strangely firm, lacking any reluctance, or weak and simpering attempts to make peace. There was such force beneath the press of his fingertips, such necessity in the way they curled over dark fur, hooking their way over the vampire’s knuckles and seeking to entwine over his hands. Carefully he moved to unlock the clasp over his throat, and the latch which bolted across his eyes.

    “S’il vous plait, Monsieur... just touch me again, touch me.”
    His words little more than a shuddery whisper in the dark.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Wed May 07, 2014 3:46 pm

    Tariq dipped his head as though in tacit acknowledgement of the boy’s scathing accusation, black eyes glittering like sickly stars in the wan light of his shuddering eyes. The slash of ivory teeth contrasted against his dark lips might well have been the roots of a wolfish grin; it may have been a frustrated baring of cringe-inducing fangs.

    The scent of blood slowly unfurled in the air, a crimson banner drawn from purple-blue veins by the omen’s stained fingernails. The bat tipped his skull toward the omen’s palm almost instinctively. Strands of pallid hair fell from his shoulders to tickle the boy’s bare flesh.

    Oui?” It was hardly more than a breath, a sigh in the darkness. He silently allowed the limp curl of his fingers to be moved from their safekeeping of his fragile eyes, although they seemed reluctant to abandon the slender stem of his neck entirely.

    ”Very well.” Absently, he tipped the boy’s chin back. His lips met his throat in a soft, slow kiss. Another branded the taut flesh between his collarbones. A third press of hungry lips abruptly introduced the foreboding scratch of his teeth against the delicate skein of skin at his throat, although they did not pierce the flesh. His mouth was unexpectedly cool, his tongue a fragile warmth as it met raw nerves.

    “That I can take from you. That I can give you, my fox.” One hand, now unoccupied, slipped down the center of his stomach until it found the impatient skin between his thighs. Gently, he rolled it into his palm, relishing the eagerness with which it pressed back against his fingers. With his other hand, he cradled the boy’s bloodied palm against his lips. This kiss was gossamer tender, his tongue flicking lightly and with quiet hunger at his fingertips.

    “But first—“ The bat’s breath tingled against the boy’s palm. His weight slipped from his omen’s torso until it rested once more on the floor, curled around the shivering boy against his chest. Nude as he was, the press of his own rigid skin against the omen’s bare thigh was mutely insistent.

    You touch me.” The command was a lazy whisper, although the muscles along his long spine had tightened enough to elicit a tremor to rattle the parchment of his heavy wings like the pinions of a bird. He continued to idly tease the tip of the omen’s heated skin between clever fingers, although it lacked the friction to be anything more than maddening. “And I will swallow your heat until it troubles you no more.”
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Thu May 08, 2014 5:42 am

    A low, heated breath parted the omen’s youthful mouth, and seemed to coil its way along the curve of his spine like a languid wave.  His lower body, forgetting courtesy or logic, rose to meet the vampire’s fingers in unabashed want, desperate for fulfillment. The boy seemed not listen at first, and he did not initially pay need to the conditions by which he might obtain his release. Only when the bat ceased, when he turned aside, did he fully capture Fabien’s attention.

    Then his pupils, the hard splinters of jet, settled unsteadily upon his master’s skull. He searched him quickly, to make sure it was not a mistake, a jest. Or rather, he looked for indication that it was, that this was not an instruction. Dismay began to creep its way across his features, the boy’s eyes widened, and he grew motionless.  There was a pause, a stillness and silence that seemed endless, until finally there was frail movement. He turned, drew in towards the bat, and coiled his body in secretively.

    What a pity it was that the bat was denied the sight of the slender hand extending, the soot dusted fingertips stretching forth experimentally.  Not the gesture in itself, but to be robbed of the sight of that trembling crimson heart which adorned the grey flesh, half faded as though applied with cheap carnival paints, not seared into his skin along with the spade, the diamond, the club.

    His fingers brushed tentatively across vampire’s furred chest, little more than a slight flutter, a ghost touch. Testing the waters, perhaps, before he pulled away again. The youth’s breath had become rapid and disjointed, old lungs rattling violently within his chest.  A second touch was bestowed, just below the bat’s abdomen, before in horror he pulled back with a shudder, a convulsion which suggested he might suddenly bolt.

    “Non, I don’t ... I don’t think I ca-“he offered, his voice a small, tearful whine, both apologetic and terrified.

    There was another agonised pause, one long enough to test a lesser creature’s patience. But when it seemed he might out right refuse, the boy’s trembling fingers slipped across the side of the bat’s aroused flesh, his knuckles meeting the sensitive skin in a single, soft graze. The heart adorned hand retracted again, terrified, and the boy’s vulpine tail whip lashed in an agitated crackle, as though summoning storm clouds from far away. It seemed to be an accusation, a spiteful reprimand to the vassal of ill luck.

    Clumsily, his violently trembling fingers began to curl around his master’s hard flesh. There was no finesse to the touch; he did not seek to please, though the grip was unintentionally hard enough to excite the nerves. But it was painfully naive, as if this being of 300 years or so, had never touched another in such a way, never performed such acts on stable lads and tempestuous bovine boys.

    His hand slid agonizingly slowly, down the length of the bat’s skin, a firm trembling stroke which halted at the base, where he remained frozen in position.

    “J-just... one... just one touch, Monsieur?”He rasped, in a small, shudder y whisper, the trickster morphed into trembling automaton, unable to function without further firm instruction. His cheeks were a blazing crimson, and frail shoulders quivering in distress, and unsalted desire.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Wed May 14, 2014 11:24 am

    Tariq had appeared to stop breathing at the fluttery touch to his chest. In ineffable silence, he allowed the tentative exploration of his chest, his stomach, the only indication of his acute alertness the soft quivering of attentive ears and the occasional shiver of a great stretch of wing. No reprimand was forthcoming for the omen’s agonizing pause; the vampire might well have been a statue of stone, albeit warmed and softened by the sun.

    The bat’s eyes were wholly blind to the tremor in those outreaching fingers, but he could feel the flush of heat that crept up the boy’s cheeks bright as a spark. He could smell the smoke that still lingered in his hair and the sweat prickling at the base of his neck, and with it came the visceral satisfaction of imagining taking it on his tongue.

    It was no accident that the skin in the omen's hand twitched as his fearful breathing deepened into a death-rattle in his chest, but of course the boy would believe it was - he had no way of grasping how intimate the bat was with the machinations of his body, how the inside of his flushed veins was like a second skin for him, regardless of how useless ink-black eyes were to him. He had no way of knowing how the terrified trembling of his yellowed bones made the vampire’s mouth water and the fluttery bird-wing panic of his worn heart provoked the muscles of his thighs to tighten almost painfully.

    The bat placed his hand over the omen's nervous grasp, simultaneously trapping it beneath a cage of his fingers and enticing it along. Unlike the boy's stuttering attempt, his was easy, practiced. By sheer chance, the point of his thumb rested on the heart at the back of his palm, piercing it with a loosely-held claw.

    His unoccupied hand returned to their wolfish attentions at the eager skin between the boy’s thighs, greeting it with a long stroke that mimicked the boy’s own gesture without the trepidation or cringing reluctance. He couldn’t resist, however, twisting his fingers along the smooth skin marked with a club, enough to elicit a sharp gasp from his captive audience.

    “Is only one a proper toll—“ He had to inhale in a hiss to whisper the words and it was clear he hadn't yet resumed breathing. “—to earn your release from your dreadful heat?”

    His hand over the boy’s loosened enough to allow it freedom to move as it would, although his spidery fingers lingered restlessly at his wrist as though to insure it didn’t stray too far from swollen flesh now aching with the echo of his nervous fingertips. He licked his lips over too-sharp teeth, his breaths lingering in his throat as soft pants.

    “Let me take it from you.” The words were nearly plaintive, coaxing though they were. “Let me swallow it.”
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Tue May 20, 2014 5:36 pm

    The cursed youth regretted the dull light which blazed defiantly through this darkness. For such a long time he had always, always been thankful for the beacon his eyes provided, but now all he wished was to somehow extinguish their dim vibrancy.  They revealed too much, and with far too much clarity, what he was doing, what he wanted to be done.
    Fabien’s wrist still trembled violently within the vampire’s grasp, frozen into position, blindly terrified to proceed. His fingers had spread a little, lifted and disengaged from his master’s ripe skin as though it were the handle of a knife he had plunged into himself. It seemed he was withdrawing, declining to proceed with this.
    But when the bat’s fingers curled over his skin, every effort to untangle himself from the situation slipped away, lost importance. The boy’s sharp hips arched forward, demanded more, and he released a soft, shuddering cry.  The touch caused him to curl inwards, as though wounded, and his brow brushed just beneath the bat’s jaw before he nuzzled it somewhere into the thick fur below his throat.

    The gesture had forced his fingers to re-tightened, hard and firm, reclaiming the skin they had provoked, before moving in another  carefully measured upward stroke. His palm moved with robotic determination, sliding over every ridge and curve until there was nothing left to touch, and then he stopped.

    Through this action, the omen made sure to keep his face concealed, veiled against his master’s chest, the thin, bony neck arched sacrificially and rotten wheat hair melting fluidly into dark fur. Shame kept him turned aside, as if he were disobeying some ancient right, or had broken a sacred vow.

    “I can’t do this. S'il vous plait.... ne me faites pas faire ce,” he murmured into the vampire’s chest, his lips half muffled. But though his words were a tearful protest, they were also breathless, and thick with hunger.

    His entire body shivered with it.

    The omen’s palm, with its pierced and bleeding heart, soot dusted fingers and bone-white knuckles, did not remain still any longer. The tentative reach of his fingertips resumed their grasp, moving in uninspiring, measured strokes, which caused the old bones of the boy’s wrist to crack like burning dead wood.  Though initially uncertain and perfunctory, quite soon his touches became more intuitive, perhaps provoked by his own needs, his own wants. The stiffness in his arm slackened somewhat, and his fingers teased their way into a more thoughtful caress. And subtle though it was, they became firmer where they needed to be, they sought to pleasure.

    The omen did not ask a second time whether he had done enough, whether he ought to stop, and this time he did not cease.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Fri Jun 06, 2014 12:08 am

    Tariq’s pupils had dilated to fill the strangely luminescent black of his blighted eyes with a stolid darkness that gleamed a sulfuric yellow when caught in the trembling light of the boy’s gaze. Released by the pricking of the boy’s heart, the scent of blood lingered heavy in the air, smelling faintly of heat and rust. It mingled like a blanket of fog over their intertwined bodies. It was indisputably maddening.

    The omen’s muffled protest elicited the bat’s lips to pull back from the sharp teeth illuminated in a brief glint of ivory bone. His idle hand reached to cradle his skull against his chest, his long fingers tangling in knotted strands of hair; his other continued to work the flesh between his thighs, fingers intuitively responding in kind to every hungry thrust between them. “Hush now.” It was hardly more than a whisper that vibrated keenly through his chest. Thoughtlessly, his own hips jerked forward, coaxed by the strokes of the boy’s palm against firm flesh. “Hush now, Fabien.”

    The bat’s dusky eyelids fluttered to a close over useless eyes. The muscles in his shoulders tightened, revealing the taut ligaments, the cords of hard, ancient bone that came to a point at the base of his throat. His breathing, erratic as it was, died once more in his lungs, until the heaving of his chest gave way to ruinous stillness.

    The vampire could not remain still for long. Every strained muscle was far too tense; every nerve taut as a tripwire. Abruptly, with a heaving of wing, he rose just enough for his eager mouth to meet the boy’s, teeth pricking his lips still laced with dried blood. A new bloom of crimson welled up in his mouth and the vampire voraciously sucked on his lips, his tongue.

    Tantalizing as it was, it was not enough to distract him, and soon his lips slunk to his throat. His kisses here were not gentle; his teeth, sharp as razor blades, seared across the strained flesh of his neck, eliciting ghostly trails of scarlet to rise from the ash of his heated skin. His hungry lips greeted each one hard enough to bruise. His split tongue lapped like a starved wolf at his fluttery pulse, impatient to split skin.

    Instead, however, his lips moved further, down, to the center of his sternum, his breath warm on skin that pebbled beneath it, down, to hips that strained up for his touch. His hand found his prize first, rolling club-kissed flesh between his fingers before taking it greedily in his mouth. The bat swallowed it whole, hungrily, keen to taste the length of him on his forked tongue. A shiver wracked the muscles of his shoulders, his wings whispering a susurrus of dried membrane and rattling claw in the shadows.

    The taste of heated skin proved to be a potent diversion. The vampire lingered over it, tongue wickedly exploring the club-christened head before slipping down to the base. His new position was awkward, forcing the boy to strain to keep pace along the bat’s rigid skin. However, the ferocity with which he forced himself into his hand suggested he did not intend for his affections to cease just yet.

    Tersely, he pulled away as though to rein himself in, as though in remembrance that the bones beneath him were fragile, the hot blood gaspingly finite. This time, it was he who buried his face as though in shame, burrowed in the crook of the boy’s neck. A hand slid, serpentine, to the crook of his pelvis to the skin still slickened from his mouth. “Go on,” he hissed softly, each word punctuated by a terrible kiss to the curve of his trembling neck. “I want more of you.”
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Sat Jun 07, 2014 3:50 pm

    Fabien hated the silence. It provided far too much focus, it connected him to the reality of what they were doing, of what he was doing, and the boy despised it. He could then hear their heated breaths in the dark, he became suddenly aware of how his had become delicately tinged with the hint of a moan. The boy's heavy lidded and exhausted gaze stalked the vampire with all the attentiveness of a trained pet, though he refused to follow this one command, this summons to be quiet. And yet as he moved to speak, his lips were sealed by the press of the bat’s.

    The omen exhaled in a shuddering breath against the bat’s teeth, hissed into his lips like an ill tempered viper. His expression had soured into a look of such bitter hatred, such hot, confused resentment. And yet his eyes were still so heavy with arousal, the parted lips so compliant, his tongue did not rest lifelessly in the well of his jaw, and his bloodied mouth did not clamp shut.  And so he was fractured neatly in two, split by desire and aggression in a perfect division. It made the hand that coiled about the vampire’s hard skin move with such firm and intoxicating regularity.

    The youth’s lean neck curved up in an inviting arch, the scarred skin pliant, stretched over the framework of his bones.  Each kiss was met with a firm shudder, and the slight, barely disguised writhing of his lower body. And still his hand slid, liquid like in its rhythmic strokes, the motion of it seeming to respond to every sharp graze of the vampire’s teeth, until he proved too much of a distraction. Then with a whimpering gasp the omen’s lower body bowed, and the black nails of his free hand sliced across the floor in a violent crackle. His blooded hand did not slip free from its duty, but the movement of boy’s wrist became confused, his attention waned.

    A low, aching moan like that of a wounded animal was lodged in his throat. Fabien wanted so badly to be freed, so badly that a coarse plea escaped his lips. “Non... don’t stop. S'il vous plait... Monsieur.”

    Frustrated as he felt the vampire withdraw, the boy’s branch-like forearm bent in a sharp protest, the frail bone and grey skin lodged between both their bodies in a futile attempt to wrench further space. Irritable with longing, he pushed with all the force he could muster, hoping to fend the vampire away like an over affectionate hound. But his hand somehow became lost in dark fur, coiling through those now unhappily familiar threads until he was gripping, pulling closer. His fingers were so desperate they seemed unable to settle.

    The omen's heart adorned hand, stained with its rivers of dried blood, found rest over where he assumed the vampire had once kept a heart that beat with natural life. There was a solemnity in the gesture, something unspoken. His other hand however was not so subtle, coiled sinfully as it was around his master’s skin.  The conjurer’s fingers slipped obediently in rippling strokes, coaxing pleasure to the surface where it could.
    The omen's throat flexed continuously as though he were swallowing something down, forcing words to not spill from his lips. Words, offers, pleas, things he didn't want to say, things he would hate himself for later... when there was only darkness.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Wed Jul 02, 2014 2:24 am

    Something dangerously close to a moan was building deep within the vampire’s still chest. It crackled like molten stone against the curve of his ribs, filled the space of his withered heart with throbbing heat, and spit from between his bared teeth as a venomous snarl against the horn-white bend of the omen’s neck. Blackness clouded blank eyes as their pupils expanded to liquid darkness.

    The hand stoking the eager kindling between the omen’s thighs shivered, deft fingers stuttering to a halt at the tremor that wracked his spine, as deadly as the onset of rabies and twice as deep. The bat’s jaws parted. Even in the pervasive gloom that painted every wall with charcoal darkness his teeth glinted a deathly white. His tongue flicked, serpentine and salacious, from between his lips.

    The sharp movement of his hand put an abrupt end to the boy’s sinful work on the flesh between his thighs. In his haste, his razor claws pierced the boy’s wrist in four wet slashes. The scent of rust welled thickly in the air, uneasily mingling with the smell of zealous yearning and the hoarse pants from the back of the bat’s throat. He forced his hand to the ground, pinning him by the slender wrist still weeping wet, crimson tears.

    The bat’s heavy wings flared outward slowly, filling the room with their jagged shadow. The bat’s shoulders were tense. His collarbone was a hard slash at his throat. Strands of hair cobwebbed in unruly strands down his face, pulsing in ghostly time to his ragged breaths.

    His palm reached for the boy’s mouth, brushed against his nose, long fingers creating a shuttered silhouette over one eye. The vampire had no words, now, and it was doubtful he retained the sense to keep them from jumbling together in his head, to keep them from wilting in his throat even if he had. Straddling the boy’s torso, the swollen skin in the crook of his pelvis continued to rut against his heaving stomach. One hand remained over the omen’s mouth, the other continuing to pin his still-bleeding wrist to the ground at his side in a cruel grip.

    His lips moved, dragging gently against the strained skin of the omen’s throat. He found the flutter of his pulse by blind instinct and his mouth eagerly cradled it. A thin, hot breath whistled through the jutting ivory of his teeth. It was the only warning the boy would be granted.

    Muscles tensed and his teeth split the flesh. Blood splattered, hot and eager, in his throat. It dyed his lips a blinding scarlet, a cruel imitation of life. This groan was in earnest, drawn as if with a gutting knife from the deepest pit of his stomach. His thighs tightened, spasmed, his fingers tautening at his wrist as a different sort of heat painted the omen’s chest. His wings shuddered like withered leaves. The vampire exhaled in a hiss before his teeth sank into the boy’s neck a second time, impatient to swallow the hot spurt of blood that met them. He drank greedily, indelicately, unconcerned with the pain his appetite ignited in raw nerves.

    He pulled away to allow his lips to meet the omen’s through the crook between his thumb and forefinger. The kiss was lazy and wet with blood. It was possessive and hard and a little too deep, the vampire’s fingers curling against the side of his face. He broke away after sucking, covetously, on his tongue, his kisses readily returning to split skin and lamenting veins. His body continued to be haunted by shivers, his taut muscles yet to fully recover from the impact of his shuddering release.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Tue Jul 22, 2014 9:26 am

    Fabien was momentarily numb, or seemed presently unable to process pain with his usual keenness. His skull turned toward his entrapped fingers, which had curled and stiffened cadaverously like dying leaves. The arm whose wrist had been torn and captured responded more appropriately, and it developed a tension in muscle and bone as he pulled defiantly against the vampire’s grip. But this physical reaction was so alien it caused the boy’s brow to pinch in confusion, unsure of what he was fighting for.

    The omen’s fire-bright eyes flew back to examine the approach of the bat’s fingers. It was then Fabien’s breath stilled, and was held momentarily in the narrow flute of his throat. When this touch was close enough to kiss, he released warm air in a rattling, trembling gasp that was accompanied by the slow parting of his youthful lips. For a moment it seemed he might eagerly accept his master’s fingers between his jagged teeth, deep into the well of his mouth, but the youth merely shivered, and allowed the bat to muzzle him like a dog prone to bite.

    The omen seemed so distant, like one absorbed in half dreams, lost somewhere between sleep and waking. His chin arched as the bat’s lips grazed his throat, desperate for further affection. Only the sharp shock of pain released him from this strange, seemingly narcotic induced daze. When the vampire struck, Fabien’s spine surged upright with pain, and his free hand moved with instinctive force to latch upon the curve of the vampire’s shoulder. Sharp fingertips sunk deep, and searched through thick fur until they found a confident purchase upon the firm muscle below. The boy’s lip curled, and his vulpine teeth ground together in a fretful screech as the dim glow of his eyes was sealed violently behind fluttering eyelids. Sharp groans and unhappy cries of pain were pressed like coins into the vampire’s palm, each deadened and muffled.

    The second bite proved too much. This time the youth writhed, skin slick and glistening from his baptism, beneath the bat’s cruel jaws. “Ah... arrêter, ça fait mal” he cried, his fingers no longer gripping but pushing as he sought to urgently force the vampire back and away from him. But what little strength he had was withered away, and gradually the light was sapped from boy’s eyes. When reopened they were dark, dark like the glow of a lantern smothered by fire smoke.

    The foxen youth responded to the bat’s hard affection with a small, miserable whine of discontent. And weak as a newborn fawn, he attempted to hoist his chest forward, supporting his weight on the sharp points of trembling elbows. His breath remained short, the diaphragm jerking with each stunted and troubling inhale. The motion of his body suggested a need for departure, his hips turned, and blackened fingertips scored the floor as he attempted to push himself up, and away.

    Yes, away for now, away from this oppressive heat and darkness, into a space where he might breathe and piece together the fragments of his thoughts.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Fri Jul 25, 2014 4:01 pm

    Tariq did not have to teach the omen brutality. Fabien knew that all on his own.

    However, as the boy half-heartedly tried to escape his master’s embrace, sinew writhing to pull away from the burden they bore, a whip-then edge of displeasure cut into the vampire’s features as though dissatisfied he hadn’t the courtesy to at least take pleasure in it.

    The bat was hardly swayed by the insistent push of the omen’s hand. He gently hushed his protests, two slick fingers pressed into Fabien’s cracked lips, a quiet, wordless murmur spilling from his throat. His eyelids were low over useless eyes. Languidly, he raised the bloodied wrist that he still held captive in his palm to his lips. The boy’s fingertips tasted of blood and earth and the vampire’s skin.

    He was still slow, lazy, the blood lethargy as long disused organs ticked painfully back to life sending pins and needles shivering across the cavity of his chest. His serpentine tongue was numb in his mouth. The muscles of his jaw flexed, stretched, working his mouth back into use. Blood darkened his lips, a wisp of smoke across his mouth.

    The first word that rolled from his blood-slickened lips was dull and useless as a pebble. It clattered hopelessly to the floor, nonsensical, foreign. The bat’s head tilted and a hacking cough, as though he were coughing up a gristle of meat, spasmed through his chest. It took time to draw the tentative threads of his thoughts back into their proper order, but the vampire had nothing if not time.

    “We—“ Finally, he drew the word out from the heated chaos of his chest. It came slickened with blood and soft enough to melt on his tongue. “-are not finished, beloved.”

    Tariq bent his head low. He smelled the boy in a slow line from clavicle to sharp ear, eyes closed and his inhales deep. When he opened his eyes they glistened like the surface of black water. His pupils were swollen, hazy and unfocused.

    “You asked me to take something from you.” He gathered himself with the effortless motion of a predator. There was nothing shy in the possessive touch of his hand that rolled the omen’s head in its palm, cradling the back of his skull. The pads of his fingers idly stroked his unruly hair. The blood that splashed in dark streaks at the stem of the boy’s throat had already started to dry and crack at the slight motion.

    “And I have not yet swallowed my fill.”

    The tenderness of his clever hands was a blinding contrast to the preceding violence. Where before he had been hard edges, tense bone and taut muscle, he was now soft as a ghost, the insistence in his wandering hands diluted beneath their coaxing gentility. His weight slipped from the omen’s pelvis, his mouth tracing a meandering line down his stomach.

    The long fingers of his wings tensed and stretched, the shivering membrane falling like a dusky cloak at either side of the boy’s prone figure. His breath was hot, now, warmed in his chest, and it quivered like a moth against the boy’s inner thigh.

    “Breathe.” It was hardly more than a murmur. He placed his spread hand just below the omen’s sternum, outstretched fingers leaving a faint, bloody print. His skull rested on the crook of the boy’s hip, his breath rising and falling with steady rhythm over the delicate nerves of club-kissed skin.

    “Tell me what you want tonight.” The words were an idle command spoken in a soft rasp, his breath washing warmly over the flesh.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Sat Jul 26, 2014 2:22 pm

    Fabien’s elbows, those unstable foundations which had propped the boy’s upper spine and shoulders from the floor collapsed, and he slipped back to the floor with joints cracking like dead wood. To breathe had become such an effort; to keep his eyes open was an almost impossible task. The omen had been robbed of all vitality, and for a moment was almost unresponsive. Then, life bloomed in the twitch of his eyebrows, the stirring of his lips. Like a dying matyr his thin, bone-like fingers flexed against the vampire’s lips, seemingly eager for such gentle affection. But as the bat strengthened, the boy had waned and paled, and his limbs were now lifeless and doll-like. Not even the agitated flush of a sooted tail sparked across the floor, it remained curled and cringing under the omen’s narrow thighs.

    The vampire’s words incited a whimper of discontent. The youth’s wanton fire long robbed from him, his hunger for pleasure replaced only by this thick cloth of exhaustion.

    “Is it ... not then enough, Monsieur?” He rasped softly. A strange enquiry, though the meaning was clear: Did I not please you sufficiently? Did I not bleed for you? And perhaps beneath that, and more obstinately: ‘I will not accept payment for it. I am not a pet. I am not a whore.’ This dangerous spark was almost completely concealed, though it could be felt in a subtle tightness in the omen’s muscles, and in the crackle of his star tipped tail.

    Such hostility was so easily forgotten now. He no longer held the thread which connected him to the source of it. And desperate, or rather starved of the kindness and affection he had once sought from others, the youth’s chin still arched so prettily as the vampire swept over the aching flesh of his throat. A ragged sigh was born there, deepening before faded to nothingness. It whispered things his lips would not, that yes, he wanted this touch, he desired those lips upon his ashen skin.
    Fabien’s eyes, no longer extinguished and dark, burned like a dying candle wick. They rested fixatedly upon the bat’s skull, watched him with quiet despair. His head, clasped as it was within those hands, shook slowly, sadly. No, no not now, he took it back, not now, not anymore.

    It was too much. Too much to be soiled, to be bled, and then when all was done to be made to gasp for him, to writhe for him. It was more than enough, it was gluttonous.

    “Mon dieu ... pas plus,” he croaked softly, his chest seized by another painful tightness, so severe it left the boy violently wheezing. His chest jerked beneath the bat’s palm, his withered lungs rattling within their cage of bone. Then, as though they too were obedient to the vampire’s whims, they began to calm. It was as though the bat’s touch, like a balm, drew away the corruption, and soothed the stuttering, stunted organs. He instantly became more vocal, more insistent on opposing his master’s words. Cruelly dismissing the omen’s discontent, and subjected to this renewed flush of warmth, the club marked flesh twitched eagerly.
    The omen protested it, and provided his answer in three sullen words.

    “Nothing. ”
    “Oblivion.”
    “Rest.”
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Fri Aug 15, 2014 1:48 pm

    Tariq’s palm rested lightly over the boy’s shuddery lungs long after they had stilled. His measured breaths deepened as though to coax the omen’s asthmatic lungs into a similar rhythm, a trick that seemed to work as they expanded with enough air to fuel their owner’s surly response.

    The tautness of the bat’s thighs and the tension of his wings had melted away to reveal a creature soft and coaxing, with sharp teeth and an appetite whetted. Somehow, the vampire was even more dangerous now that the cobwebbed haze had been swept from his mind, now that he had rut his own pleasure out on the omen’s stomach.

    The boy’s rasped plea was met with a glint of ivory teeth. The bat lifted his maned head, the tattered shadow of his wings falling low to scrape on the ground with a dry scuff.

    “Enough?” The word was a soft hiss. The shadows that gathered thickly in the room, swirling in clots of languorous darkness, seemed to flinch and freeze.

    “Fabien, remember this.” The hand on his tight chest stroked the slick skin as though to sink the words into the skin. “You will always be a child to me, and blood—“ His hand crept upward to allow one claw to trace a slow line over the boy’s bruised and bloodied throat. The very point of it caught and prickled the skin. “Sings to blood.” His long fingers crept down the shivering line of his sternum. Clever fingertips relished the ashen skin pebbling beneath his touch.

    His ears pricked upward at his omen’s sullen rejoinder. “Mm,” he murmured the breath into the boy’s skin. The eager welcome of club-kissed flesh did not go unnoticed. “Then you shall have rest.” The serpentine movement of his neck ought to have flooded the boy with a sudden sense of foreboding deep in his stomach.  “You will have oblivion. It will be the tinder on which you burn.” There was a fiercely wicked humour in his tone that the omen would have little time to contemplate as his flesh was suddenly taken deeply into that same wicked mouth that had only just swallowed his spurt of hot blood.

    The gesture was stripped of its playfulness; nothing teasing remained. It was brutal and hungry and terribly efficient. The bat was nothing if not gluttonous. He sucked the ichor from the hard skin with a pull of his tongue, his wandering hand now occupied with coaxing the raw nerves at the base of his shaft. The other pressed into the omen’s pelvis as though to keep him rooted in place until the vampire had thoroughly drank his fill.
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Fabien on Mon Aug 18, 2014 1:42 pm

    Those touches, slight as they were across the youth’s pale skin, induced many soft and unhappy murmurs. Only his star tipped tail retained strength enough to protest more actively, and it coiled and lashed over itself with all the agitation of a wild animal. The omen turned his skull petulantly aside, his dim eyes narrowed to anger infused sickles.   Yet it would be foolish to think he was not listening, or had somehow mastered the much desired skill of blotting the vampire out of both sight, and mind.

    A layer of hair, gummed together with sweat and blood, fell like a bird’s wing across those irritated eyes, heavy with their purpled lids. Though the boy was quiet, his flesh twitched so eagerly, and his breath caught in soft ceremony, revealing how easily still the bat could excite him.  Then when he felt the flush of breath over his skin, suddenly the black splinters of the omen’s eyes moved like poison darts to the source.

    “But I’m ...ahhh... “ the soft words began falteringly, and quickly lost direction.  The cursed creature’s neck arched backwards, but his cheek was pressed so firmly to the unforgiving floor, that it scoured the skin a livid red.
    “... I’m n-not a... ch-child.” He hissed, filthy toes curling, and blackened heels scuffed raw against the bloodied ground. A thick, unhappy moan of unwanted pleasure broke from between his teeth, accompanied by a violent shudder. The strand of hair still, concealing the omen’s features, shivered across his mouth, stirring with each hot, panted breath.

    No tireless effort was required. As soon as the bat’s mouth enclosed his skin, the boy’s hips were straining pathetically into and against his palm and he gasped hungrily beneath him. The omen’s skin had been waiting so long for this, aching for contact, and he was shamefully easy to quench. His skin, which was momentarily cooled by loss of blood, was quickly warmed with unnatural efficiency. Still sensitive from earlier tortures, the slightest touch forced his lower body to squirm, and his lips to quiver and moisten. Bloodied and bruised though he was, the boy still urged himself so prettily into the vampire’s mouth.

    “Ahh... je ne peux pas” he winced, his voice splintering to nothing but a rasp.
    His swollen skin gave way fiercely under the bat’s skilful tongue, leaving a husk, a frail thing of trembling knees and a chest seized by rattling, pleasure infused groans. The skin upon his cheek and temple rubbed raw, and so too the paper thin flesh of his knuckles, the clenched fists of which had been treated with equal harshness.

    The boy dared not, could not find any words.
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    Tariq
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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

    Post  Tariq on Thu Aug 21, 2014 3:22 pm

    Tariq readily relished every shudder on the tip of his tongue. His long fingers tightened, the hooked point of his claws abruptly becoming a real threat. He trembled softly in his own enthusiasm. The bat worked singing nerves with his hungry mouth like a connoisseur of the flesh, an avid aficionado of that strained, heated skin --but even more he savored the boy’s pained hesitancy, the angry curl of his hands into a tight fist and the self-loathing that coloured every warmed moan.

    When the boy broke in a fount between his lips, a shiver cut through the bat’s torso deep as a blade between his ribs. Lazily, he took the taste of him into his throat, swallowing as though to sate the terrible hunger that burned a blackened ember deep in his belly. The excruciatingly raw skin was tortured with another brush of his lips and the slow curl of his forked tongue before he pulled away, his warmed breath coming in soft, deep pants.

    Idly, he streaked his mouth on the boy’s pelvis, nearly thrumming with his predatory contentment. The dark ring of his blind eyes flashed a cold silver as he regarded the disheveled and tarnished creature in perfect silence.

    The boy was spared his analysis as the bat finally shifted and pulled the bloodied omen close, the rather impressive wing that suddenly flared out to shutter them from the rest of the room brokering little argument as to where the boy would spend the night. He seemed content, for the moment, to tumble into sleep still coated in filth, muzzle still streaked with dark smears of blood. No doubt the vampire’s fastidiousness would emerge again tomorrow morning and they would both be treated to a bath.

    But for now, the room was dark and quiet. His ordeal, whatever shape it had taken, was over for the night.

    The bat was already settling into sleep, fatigue sharply returning in a warm shroud that softened every muscle and tendon. The omen’s words may have been spirited away from his aching lungs, but they welled easily in the vampire’s chest. The breath that slipped like something prowling from his throat was easy to overlook, clearly a stray thought that had lingered only long enough to fall from his tongue. “But you did. And you will again.”

    The next murmur was softer, the muttered sighs of a ghost that faded hardly before it even left his lips, “Trust your dreams.” It was the last of the dubious wisdom the vampire had to depart before he succumbed to the dreamless oblivion of his own slumber, now warmed pleasantly by the boy’s blood pumping hot and strong in his veins.

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    Re: Act V -- I Have Just Swallowed A Terrific Mouthful Of Poison.

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