HEARTACHE

— I'LL TELL YOU I'VE CHANGED. I’ll tell you, the red on my lips isn’t wine. Out of an entire kingdom he kneels only to me, calls me King, calls me Mercy.

[lightvein]

                                    I’M NOT DEAD YET !

                                       mutlimuse  +  selective  +  private 

[lightvein]

roguetrust. //  PRETTY PEOPLE.

                     ❛   i  kissed  vilde  …  again.   ❜

                                                          ♡    @lightvein  liked  for  a  starter  !!    ♡

                    ❛   SO ? life is for kissing pretty people !  ❜

[lightvein]

                       SPLIT !  like this for a mini lyric starter

[lightvein]

                       SPLIT !   like this for a mini lyric starter

[lightvein]

Do you remember the house? The one in the woods, where we hid from the beasts. Do you remember the love? Of course you do. And the lust. How with the wolves outside I howled, and like them I  sank my teeth in flesh, as though the scars would mark you as mine forever.

                               highly selective, mutual exclusive, private multi-muse.                            @riotvein​, penned by heneen @lightvein​, penned by laila

[lightvein]

  SPLIT !     if  u  didn’t  know  ,,  i  have  a  pinterest  n  if  u  wanna  follow  me  u  can  do  so  here  winkwonk

[lightvein]

riotvein. // BATHE ME IN YOUR LIGHT.

god ,  behold :  the beauty of a creation you shaped with the blunt of your nail ,  smoothed under your palm like new clay ,  clinging to the memory of your touch for air  !  the majesty you left to dry for too long.  the majesty that you broke ,  unattended and consumed by neglect.  do not blame him for putting together my pieces ,  father ;  you were the one who broke me.  dominik ,  hazy and open - lipped ,  reminded him of the long nights spent in normandy ,  an encampment long and unruly ,  covered in sweat and a brother’s blood ,  whispering goodnight to men who may not choose the next time they are laid to rest.  dominik reminded him of the way his stomach sought structure in the fact of his immortality ,  begging for the linings of his gut not to sink and leave him far worse than mortal :  empty.  dom ,  in the way all empty things are ,  jolts at the touch of another.  aster ,  in the way all empty things must be filled ,  presses both palms flush to his companion’s chest ,  pushing him gently into the bed and letting the worn springs buckle and bounce back.  there is a smile on his face few are privy to ; a soul that rises only to remind itself why it has been dormant for so long ,  now commanding the ebb of his attraction without restraint.  touch me.  remind me my body is not an ornament ;  dust my edges ,  bathe me in your light.  i have been dark for too long.  

then ,  in the rush of bittersweet beginnings ,  the warmth of wakefulness greets them like a slap in the face.  the world is not just here  –  greet the day as men ,  comfortably estranged and distraught.  is that now how all good men must be ?  (  tell me ,  lord ,  why have you delivered my want in the body of a man and forbade me of it ?  do i not deserve the fruits of your labor in every variety ?  why have worship and happiness become mutually exclusive ?  i whisper your name in my sleep and beg for your guidance ;  you have not replied and i have no such man in me ,  no such man so willing to wait for the piety of beings greater than me in no deliverance but title.  i do not live by hierarchy.  not like this ,  not with him. ) there is a word for their pause in progression ,  tight with a lust that bundles between their hips ,  that asks to move.  how still they have become ,  how stunted by fear.  he looks at dom’s arms ,  positioned so stiffly at either side that way , and he is struck with humiliation and insecurity.  does he not want this closeness ?  his hips raise ,  detach from dom’s and hover above him so that he has his knees bent at either side of his love ,  standing straight with arms hanging casually..  please ,  look at me with eyes thicker than want ,  deeper than brotherhood.  how am i to ask for your love without asking you to feed me spoonfuls of vanity ,  of narcissism like i were starving ?  how am i to seek your love when i am barren of such care for my own self ?  still ,  love me.  love me without body ,  without mind ,  without soul.  love me like we were bonded before the barrier of thought ,  of touch ,  of  this.  he knows the word for this ,  not so much a word but a phrase ,  ringing in his ears like mother tongue :   la douleur exquise.  the exquisite pain.

❛  i have no work today  –  would you like some coffee ? ❜

HE   WOULD   NOT   LEAVE   THIS   UNSCATHED,   any   devotion   comes   with   a   heavy   price.   he   would   carry   the   cross   on   his   back,   be   the   messiah,   the   martyr.   always   willing   to   be   the   one   in   front   of   a   bullet.   (   WHAT   HAPPENS   WHEN   YOU   END   UP   BEING   THE   ONE   BEHIND   THE   GUN ? )   will   you   tell   the   lord   his   ways   are   wrong?   have   him   give   you   roses   and   all   you   have   to   offer   is   thorns?   lay   at   his   feet,   reveal   every   ugly   part   of   yourself   to   him   and   hope   he   isn’t   revolted.   how   could   such   a   damaged   creature   be   contained   in   such   a   beautiful   body?   become   home   with   him,   nest   in   the   small   of   his   back.   let   every   ugly   truth   of   you   be   deteriorated   and   let   his   atoms   create   you,   make   you   whole   again.   hands   feel   too   heavy,   like   they   have   no   place   for   dominik.   not   near   him,   not   on   him,   not   touching   him.   but   they   remain,   skin   to   skin,   hands   flat   on   his   chest.   for   a   moment,   he   wondered   if   they   belonged   there,   wondered   if   they   would   stay   despite   it   all.   for   a   moment,   his   eyes   soften,   a   light   of   detachment.   detaching   from   reality,   from   his   opposition   to   such   ways,   such   feelings.   it   was   fleeting.   but,   the   light   doesn’t   go   unnoticed,   hands   find   their   life,   no   longer   dead   at   his   side.   fingers   glide   along   the   wrists   of   aster’s,   settling   in   the   curve   of   his   wrist,   a   keen   touch.   ——   he   would   crucify   himself,   fingernails   lined   with   the   scum   of   his   self   loathing,   spread   his   arms   wider   and   wear   his   crown   of   thorns.   THE   MESSIAH,   THE   MARTYR.   but,   there   is   a   difference   between   dominik   and   JESUS.   he   doesn’t   want   to   help,   he   wants   to   be   worshiped.   let   him   be   devoured,   let   him   nail   his   hands   to   the   cross,   maybe   now   he   will   be   seen   as   his   son.   not   an   abomination.   stigmata,   stigmata,    STIGMATA. 

his   love   is   in   abundance,   a   challenge   to   find   but,   once   you   do,   it’s   enveloping.   a   warmth   so   enticing,   you   become   blind   to   the   damage   he   has   caused.   dominik   is   damaging,   like   a   wild   fire.   it’s   so   beautiful   that   you   can’t   look   away,   and   when   you   do,   you’ve   already   gotten   burnt.   you   will   regret   you   ever   got   so   close.   fire   and   ice   have   never   balanced   out   well.   somehow,   though,   aster   stays.   HE    STAYS.    ——   he   wondered   if   god   were   up   there,   listening   in   on   every   sinful   thought,   a   celestial   being,   the   almighty   with   divine   powers.   if   so,   why   would   he   make   dominik   like   this?   ripped   at   every   seam,   faltering   at   every   edge.   modeled   and   shaped   into   a   mistake   that   god   didn’t   feel   like   erasing.   or   was   it   easier   to   blame   his   being   on   a   mystical   deity   that   DOESN’T   CARE.   he   loves,   he   loves   so   effortlessly.   like   the   hair   hanging   from   the   nape   of   his   neck,   it’s   free   but   intangible  . it   only   makes   itself   known   when   it’s   demanded.   it   was   apparent  ,   the   light   that   resides   in   aster,   he   wondered   how   it   lived   there   without   losing   its   brightness   for   so   many   years.   how   wasn’t   crushed   under   the   weight   of   life,   he   stays   youthful.   pomegranate   stained   lips,   childlike   eyes.   he   stays   godly.   maybe   dominik   has   found   a   god   to   worship.   on   his   knees,   he   will   drink   communion   and   ask   for   forgiveness   at   his   feet.   worship   him,   worship   aster.

❛  i would love some coffee , morning breath. as long as you have that vanilla creamer that i really like ! ❜

[lightvein]

riotvein. // FRIGHTENINGLY MORTAL.

light chastises him ,  bares a skin so brazen to a sun of unmatched fervor.  god ,  delicate ,   looming between the clouds he has been tasked to command for centuries ,  has disowned him to a land so beautifully beneath him.  led him into the arms of a man frighteningly mortal.  chest’s skin is bared to the opened window ,  curtains drawn back like a whisper between the words of a man and his lord ;  the sun blazes ,  undeterred ,  but he is cold.   dominik is not ;  dominik is warm ,  the burnt tip of a tongue ,  the deep flush in his skin from sudden heat.  dominik is scalding ,  laying his head beside aster every night and listening to the chill of a breath like holy sermon.  love me as i have loved you.  burn me as i wish to burn.  aster is the coldest man in the world ,  perched at his window ,  standing between two suns. 

in a moment ,  he turns his back to the outer sun ,  lets naked chest soak in the waves of his own ,  private light ,  huddled beneath a mountain of blankets on his bed.  ody grumbles his morning whine and bites at his calf in a gentle affection.  he doesn’t pet him and ody takes it as a queue to give them some alone time.  (  for what ,  neither know.  )  timidly ,  he patters his way to the dom’s side of the bed and uncovers him.  for a minute ,  aster wonders how to wake him up.  kiss him. — no ,  you idiot ! imagine such gall ,  kissing men as they sleep ,  incapable of consent.  what a fallacious sort of nonsense !  (  his lips look soft ,  even when he opens his mouth sometimes at night and drools a bit.  it’s cute.  perhaps the only cute thing about him.  other parts of him seem far from juvenile. he tries not to stare at his shirtless chest for too long.  how predatory ,  how predatory.  )  instead ,  he straddles him ,  aster clad in boxers and dom in what seems like thermal pants beneath thick sweats ,  shakes his shoulders and hums a too - accurate rendition of darling nellie gray that always makes dom laugh. 

❛  wake up ,  dom ! ❜

CHEST INHALES, exhale, inhale. a sentiment without words, the comfort of a good night’s sleep. that didn’t visit dominik often, laying wide eyed until the early hours of the morning was his usual sleeping schedule. aster changed that, though. the freeze of aster was like a lullaby , nodding dominik off to his slumber and dreams of aster. it isn’t like this all the time. dominik can recall nights, only hours away from the break of dawn, the only light shown on aster’s face was the one from the hall, showering him in dimness, pushing the shadows that demanded to be known away. just enough for dominik to map out each freckle that scattered across his nose like constellations, his face seemed to be modeled after a sculpture by michelangelo, so beautiful that he had to be art ! he so desperately wanted to touch him, feel the cold underneath his fingertips. trace the freckles that he has memorized with his thumb, the gentleness that dom never got in his real life.       was this real life ?      or just a dream ?

he is swallowed like cherry wine, his essence sweet and the aftertaste bitter, but goes down smooth. he leaves you wanting more and to get drunk off of him, one sip is never enough. —— the feeling of hips crashing into his own knocks him out of a deep sleep, knocking him away from his dreams of cloudy days, resting under a blanket and under aster. —— the abrupt light is selfish, demanding his eyes attention while hurting them at the same time. he figured there was a metaphor in that, somewhere. instincts plague him, hands reach for something. but, what? a weapon? probably. you can take the man from the hunt, but you can’t take the hunt from the man. —— he jumps, only for that movement to be suppressed by aster’s hips. wide eyes finally make there home on aster, hair rustled from sleep, eyes still glossy and foggy. dominik loved when aster looked like this, so fresh and raw. so new to the day. so ready to take on anything the world would throw at him that day.  his hands want to roam, place them on his hips and keep them there. he doesn’t, though. ( COWARD. ) he keeps them to himself, heart still racing, he begs them to stay at his side. stay still, stay still, my love.

❛  i’m up, i’m up ! ❜