WARNINGS:
Obsessive behaviors, Emotional/Psychologixal Abuse, Exicit s3xual content, Dead Dove do not eat
"Do you love it?"
Pairings: Cale Henituse / Alberu Crossman
I carve your smile into the recesses of my brain.
It’s so loathsome.
The intermingling, the wine, sin, and bodies pressed together; this place reeks of the taste of plastic and cold passion. All of these fake people, groveling to please us. You took my interest the moment you walked into the room.
Like a star in the middle of a bustling stage, you slither next to me with that sickeningly sweet smile of yours. I pressed the flute of champagne to my lips and repressed the primal urge to see you cry. You greet me, pleasantries are exchanged, and you look at me in disappointment as I grip your hand tightly in that exchange as I whisper a greeting into your year. It took the entirety of me not to pull you in for a bite.
Yes, this is obsession.
I want to see you panting, groveling, covered in sweat and blood under me; a desire I never felt before. So don’t look at me with that spark in your eyes, for I might devour you at any minute now. So I turned my back with a sly smile and a promise to meet again—the thoughts of impurity hidden in the tone of my voice. I love the horrified look on your face.
This once drab dancefloor of novelty and pride is washed with red, and you are the center of this stage. How can I let the spotlight move away from such a creature like you? I stare from a corner as the actors around you try to appease your soul.
Don’t look at other people just as you never leave my sight.
You are so beautiful, a butterfly I’d love to pin on my wall. If you were, I’d stare at you for eternity, my object of affection. Why did you choose to fly towards me?
You are such a bad boy.
Under the mask of domesticity, I feed your soul. You told me you love my dishes, I say they were made with love. Yet love is the mask I place above pure passion. You say you love my dishes, I never say they were made with yesterday’s acquaintances that leave a bad taste on my tongue.
I have you in my grasp; I hold every inch of you. Don’t look at me with those lovely, pitiful eyes, begging for mercy. There is none to give, darling.
Do you want to see them? They who scratch your unblemished skin, marring you with impurity. Do you want to see how they squirmed? Do you want to hear how they screamed? They were so incomparable to the ringing of your moans under me like the bells of sanctuary.
Keep it up, love, I can’t get get enough of you. Do you love this, too? My head hurts thinking of you, of all the ways I may lay my hands on you. You make me dance like a fool under your thumb, and I am obsessed with you. I love the way your eyes widen with every whisper and lingering touch I give from behind.
Did I make you shiver?
I am in your flesh and I explore every part of it. I identify and name every mole on your body with the heat of my touch. You quiver under my touch as I reach for your neck. Look at me; look at my eyes. Oh~ you’re so delicious to look at.
I am an empty husk for love, and you fill me in. You told me love is foreign to you. So lay down here, and I will teach you how to love.
Whisper in my ear with an empty voice. Your tired soul needs some comfort. Now you’ve lost that spark in your eyes and all I can see are tears. I see that you have lost your breath, my dear; let me breathe in a new life inside you.
This love bleeds a new color in me. Red is the color of passion today. Are you filled in? Are you satisfied? This new love tastes like the sharp end of a knife with every lick. Does it hurt? Your screams are a melody I compose a love song with. Cry till your throat feels raw, darling, and I will sing with you. Climb octaves of pleasure imbued deep from within. Hold my hand tightly and squeeze till they bleed.
Never mind the stares onto the mark of our love.
They will never understand. They will never keep us apart for long. You crawl back to me like I always knew you would, hungry for the love I make. The tears you cry leave a salty taste on tonight's dinner, its name forgotten and buried with the life it had before.
Don’t look at me with that stupid face. You are such a silly boy.
You look at me as if you hate pain, but your words never reach your tongue, even if I reach into yours. Are you mute? Are you deaf? Use your words to tell me... do you love this?
But it looks like the answer was always in your eyes. Empty and filled with lust and passion, you wring your hand around my neck and point a knife to my back, and I smile.
Oh, I think I love this.
...............
I write what I want. Again this is a work of fiction. Stay safe out there guys.
