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

    **You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire


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    Join date : 2012-05-14

    **You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire Empty **You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire

    Post  Fabien on Mon May 29, 2017 4:15 pm

    A familiar hush had fallen over the house, the rooms so quiet one might think it was abandoned. The urchin was currently stretched across his bed, arranged in a lazy sprawl of slender limbs. His clothing was loose, partially undone, as thought he had been in the process of undressing and lost the motivation to continue. He looked as languid as a house cat, well fed and attempting to chase sleep. Which, by the looks of things, was proving to be as evasive as ever.

    The boy’s room was cast in its usual soft light, the shadows stark against the walls. His darkly lined eyes were fixed somewhere near the door, but unfocused and hazy. The youth was deep in thought, the smooth flesh of his brow pinched in a way that made him appear quietly anxious.

    The current occupant of his thoughts was not in the house. He was out again, late. It was the usual state of affairs, and a routine which the boy was quickly becoming accustomed to. But even when absent, he was always there, haunting the boy’s thoughts with alarming frequency.

    He had dreamt of him only the night before, and the recollection of it still made the boy’s skin redden.  He did not even like men, not really. He could not recall the last time one had turned his head, made him feel anything by way of lustful thoughts. Not like this.

    It was this house, perhaps. Maybe the food was poisoned, laced with some tonic. Or perhaps the whole place was bewitched; perhaps that was why girl filled the rooms with that pungent smell. Maybe it was an attempt to guard against such things. He should speak to her of it in the morning. He could ask if there was some trick, some method she might know to cure it.

    Fabien released a low, shuddering sigh and tucked an arm behind his head.

    He attempted to steer his thoughts elsewhere, to find some new topic to occupy himself with. But it wasn’t long before the vampire was seeping through the cracks. How the candlelight caught upon the side of his face, how elegant his profile was. And his eyes, how they seemed to glow so finely sometimes, it was as if they were lit from within.  They were like nothing the boy had ever seen before.

    He was fascinated by the shape of his hands, with their tapering fingertips and sharpened nails. He remembered how they felt upon him, so cool and firm against his limbs. The urchin’s skin heated fiercely, bestowing his paling complexion with a ruddy glow. He released another frustrated sigh, and pinched the flesh between his eyes.

    It had happened like this before, after the dream. He had awoken to find himself so painfully hard and aching he could hardly stand it. And here it was again, but accompanied by the thought of what it might be like to press his lips against the vampire’s mouth. How it might feel to run the backs of his fingers over the side of his throat.

    Soon, and almost without realising it, the boy’s hand was slinking down over his chest. Then he was plucking aside the fabric of his shirt, easing the material over his ribs to reveal his taut stomach. His conjurer’s fingers skimmed over the sharp jut of his ribs, before reaching the firm point of his aroused skin.

    The boy thumbed himself, teasing skin that was already slick with anticipation. He closed his eyes, and imagined it was not his, but the vampire’s palm curling around him.  That it was the vampire’s hand applying a slow, firm stroke down the length of his throbbing flesh. The boy’s lower back arched, and he tipped his head back into the pillow, flexing the muscles of his throat.

    His wrist was lazy at first, dragging out the exquisite torture as he sank ever more deeply into his wretched fantasies. But it didn’t take long for him to begin working his skin with luxuriant relish. He imagined his body pressed against his host’s chest, the vampire’s breath hot against his neck.

    The youth turned his head aside, his hips rocking against the ever quickening motion of his hand.  His breathing had become rapid, irregular. Soon he was beginning to whine softly, each exhale coloured by a low, muffled moan. The boy quickly pressed his mouth into the pillow in a desperate attempt to stifle the sounds of his pleasure.

    In his thoughts, the vampire’s hand was upon him still, coaxing him to finish, urging him with the sound of his name. The boy came with a shudder, spilling hot and eager onto his bare chest, as his lower body writhed with pleasure.

    His hand fell away, the fingers trembling against his side. He remained there, panting in the dark, his skin damp and flushed with spent pleasure.  

    “Mon dieu... qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec moi?” He whispered unhappily.

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