He sensed, rather than saw, the inviting arch of the omen’s exposed throat as he shifted hungrily beneath him. Instinctively, his spine curved, taut as a tripwire, in predatory loops of sharp vertebrae to allow his lips to rest against the pliant skin of his trembling neck. One hand still pressed the boy’s thin wrists together, grinding them into the floor above his head, while the other played on the flesh between his tight thighs to coerce the sweet gasps and grinding, eager motion from his starved body. The smell of their skin seemed to have gotten into the air, their desire a physical necessity.
“So ravenous, little one.” The words, although soft and low as a growl, broke open against the flesh of the boy’s throat and bled, hot and heady. It was impossible to discern who he was referring to. His forked tongue traced a quivering line from collarbone to the base of his chin, cutting as keenly as any knife.
The hand between his legs broke away as the bat straightened, his pelvis moving against the hips he straddled. His eyes, his black, dead eyes, had been possessed by something that burned hot and fierce, their gloomy depths lit by more than the omen’s erratic flickering. He brought his thin fingers up to his mouth and wet them with a long stroke of his tongue before brushing them softly against the boy’s parted lips. There was something tender about the touch, although wholly possessive, that seemed nearly a quiet, faded warning. The blood that pounded through the omen’s flushed veins and heated skin was met in kind from the bat, rousing them to an aching, wrenching heat. Whatever terrible thing was to come would be made all the worse by the enthusiastic consent from the boy’s trembling, eager body that whined, moaned, greedily pleaded, "I want it, I want it, give it all to me."
Last edited by Tariq on Sat Sep 17, 2016 4:07 pm; edited 1 time in total