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[not-wicked]

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I thought that I'd been hurt before But no one's ever left me quite this sore Your words cut deeper than a knife Now I need someone to breathe me back to life

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

Any other time, his nudity would have meant nothing. There would had been nothing to hide, no shame along his skin or burning within his heart. Instead, pressing his forehead to the floor for a moment, Vinny suddenly felt wrong. Trapped within his own skin, he felt vile, wretched, contained in a way that he had never been before. He wanted Marla, wanted familiarity and comfort, wanted the way that he knew her skin just as he knew her voice, the sound of her breathing and the flutter of her gossamer lashes against his jaw.

Steady, thrumming, the growl that had started in his throat built quickly, punching past the cage of his sharp, bile painted teeth. His fingers burned to wrap around the angel throat, to pull at his skin and break the delicate, dark stain of it beneath his fingers until it broke and his blood spread wet and quick. 

“Don’t y’fockin’ touch me.”

Greyfiel withdrew immediately, averting his gaze. Slowly, he got to his feet, leaving the bathroom. He returned a few moments later with Elvin’s clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the floor just inside the door frame. That done, he seated himself outside of the restroom, to the side of the door. The angel could wait until Vinny could stand him again, even if it took another century or two.

He would wait.

[not-wicked]

Greyfiel as Robert the Tire

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

The obstruction made him gag, the scraping of nails against the delicate skin that lined the back of his throat sharp and pulling. Painful, burning, his throat convulsed even as his stomach heaved, and Vinny let out a muffled, terrified whine. Just barely did he manage to wrench Grey’s fingers from his throat, and then he fell to his knees, gut trying to turn itself inside out as he wretched. 

Fear was a bitter thing, burning just as the acid bile pulled as his tongue and teeth, and the toilet water turned red. Brilliant and bubbling, some of that was his, evidence of where Grey’s blood had already started to eat at him from the inside. He was crying, fingers curling on the cold flood as his body jerked, back bunching. 

The moment Elvin pulled away and began to vomit, Grey went down next to him, gently rubbing his back while waiting for him to finish. He could apologise for it later, but for now all he could do was help him through it.

If only the werewolf hadn't cried. He wished he could make it stop, but he couldn't. A single whispered syllable nearly passed his lips, but it was choked back prior to its escape, the certainty in his mind blocking it. The angel couldn't speak, he was sure, so what was the point of trying?

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

The curdling in his stomach held the promise of becoming something else, already pulling tight along the lining of his gut. He stumbled after the angel, feet not wanting to move and his legs still feeling numb from their previous activities, and his green eyes were wild beneath his curling blond fringe. Fingers twisting within the other’s grasp, Vinny didn’t manage to actually free himself until the bathroom door had shut behind them.

“No, no, I want to keep it.”

His nudity was felt then, and he resisted the urge to cover himself by the skin of his teeth. He was power, he was pride, there was no reason to hide from the other man. Just the same, Vinny realized there was nothing to hide behind.

“Its mi-!”

It was his, because he’d claimed it with his teeth and tongue, he’d stained his lips with it just for the color and taste. That knowledge didn’t stop the sharp, burning twist of it that had started to swelter within his gut, and Vinny’s hands dropped like claws to his stomach, both cradling and pulling all at once, words becoming a sharp whine. 

If only it hadn't been dangerous, Grey might have given up - the other seemed so set on keeping this within himself, after all, but he couldn't let him. Elvin may have been acting like a child, but that didn't make him one, and the angel knew he couldn't stop solely for that.

While the werewolf's hands were busied with the clawing and such, he took the chance to pull him closer to the toilet bowl by the arm. One hand pulled Vinny's jaw down, then two fingers from the other were forced into his mouth. If only he could initiate the blond's gag reflex, he might be able to make him retch.

[mermaidyke]

please god, be kind to me. this skin is tainted by wasted days, this youth is stolen by aching bones. please god, i am too young to have these scars.

please god, l.g.

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

It burned his throat, thick and sweet like the chocolate liqueur that his sister favored in her drinks. Just the same, it felt like fire to his belly, a hot curdle of it that he welcomed with greedy fingers. Turning his head away from Grey, he licked at his teeth, suckling at the last remaining taste.

Those words told him no, though, denied him even after Grey had just let him take it. He hadn’t told him no, hadn’t stopped him, and what was a claim if he couldn’t bleed and be bled? Enough to coat his tongue, and to give his teeth a yellow sheen was all he’d gotten, but Vinny stared at the other man with sharp eyes.

“No, it’s mine now. Y’let me, that means its mine.”

Your kind, as if there was something wrong with him, with the way he was. He was a werewolf, an alpha, he was strong even in the newly shattered kaleidoscope state of his mind. Vinny flinched though, and his stomach twisted tightly- though it was impossible to tell if that was from the toxin or those words. 

I didn’t let you; you took it, he wrote, though there was no harshness behind his words. Grey dropped his notebook to the side once the werewolf had had enough time to read the words, then stood and pulled the other up. 

He couldn’t let Elvin die from something as simple as accidentally ingesting his blood - he’d never forgive himself for it. Surely he hadn’t taken in enough to kill him, right? Only enough to make him sick? Greyfiel’s blood had never been taken in by another, and he wasn’t entirely sure of the amount that would be dangerous.

His hand fixed on the blond’s, and he dragged him to the bathroom, sure he could somehow convince him there.

[elvin-king]

Gasping hot and humid against Grey’s mouth, Vinny’s hips surged forward at the rough treatment he’d received. The warmth on his skin turned into a fire then, something harsher and bright, and he ground down into it even as he let himself go slack. He couldn’t remember a time that he’d let another person, or another man for that matter take control but he found himself readily giving in.

It wasn’t until after that he seemed to find his breath again, and the two of them had somehow slipped from the couch to the floor instead. Loose limbed and bruised, fucked like he hadn’t been since Marla had grown particularly fierce, the were turned his head away from the window light to stare at the other man instead. His own chest still rose and fell harshly, and there was a thick, sticky sheen of sweat along Grey’s skin that he now knew the taste of.

His body burned in a pleasant, used sort of way, and Vinny stretched into it even as his lips slicked together, wet and smacking with blood. It wasn’t his own, not entirely, and with loose fingers, he reached out to find the meat of Grey’s shoulder where he’d dug in, held on like his life relied on it.

“Y’don’t fock like an angel,”

His fingers came away tacky and red, and Vinny slipped his tongue along them, chasing the already thick taste of the other man’s blood down his throat with more of it.

[not-wicked]

If he'd damned himself with that, so be it. Let all of hell come after him, so long as he could continue to have moments such as that. Elvin's words brought the barest of smiles to his lips, and he turned his gaze from the ceiling to let it settle upon him instead. There, though, he was met with a sight - his own blood, staining the lips of the werewolf.

Grabbing hold of his discarded shirt with one hand, he used the other to tightly grasp the blond's wrist and draw it away from his mouth. With his usual gentleness, he wiped the sanguine from his mouth and fingertips, before finally reaching for his notebook.

Did you swallow any of my blood? he wrote in question, the pages soon marred by the red liquid. You need to get it out of your system; it's poisonous to your kind.

Your kind, he'd written, as though they were strangers - as though they hadn't been one just minutes ago. They weren't alike in the least, but perhaps that was that had made it better.

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

Whining against Grey’s lips, Vinny’s fingers ticked across the angels skin for a moment as he found his balance. Braced over the other man, he pressed his weight heavy down between the spread of his thighs.

He wanted to pull at Grey’s skin, to sink his nails in just as he could his teeth, and he wanted to pull. He wanted blood, he wanted ferocity, the harsh slap of skin of skin and the guttural cries punched from somebodies chest. There was difference here though, for as much as he wanted those things, because he could taste Marla on the other man’s skin, and Elvin wanted to lick at every inch of him until that simmering musk was gone, replaced by the alpha’s own.

“Do y’want to be focked, or would y’rather fock me?”

Lighting ran down his spine at the whine and the touch, and he shivered. How to respond? Perhaps it had slipped Vinny's mind - for the moment, at least - that he was mute, which made it difficult to give a proper reply.

He could sense the other's desire for something rougher than what they'd had so far, so he shifted to run his hand up into the werewolf's hair. There, he grabbed hold, pulling him down and into a bruising kiss. It didn't matter to him either way, in all honesty, but the blond had mentioned wanting the angel within him, had he not?

Grey's teeth dug into the man's bottom lip, hard enough to break skin and draw blood. The bitter taste of iron hit his tongue, but he didn't draw back, only shifted enough to bite down his collarbone. Let Elvin take what he would for that, he supposed.

[lifeinpoetry]

I could be a wolf for you. I could put my teeth on your throat. I could growl. I could eat you whole. I could wait for you in the dark. I could howl against your hair.

Catherynne M. Valente, from “The Red Girl,” The Bread We Eat in Dreams

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

Turning his throat into the feeling, Vinny sighed, the sound a soft, pulling moan. Spreading his legs did nothing, only pressed Grey closer to him, and Vinny pulled at him. Fingers slipping down the back of Grey’s jeans, he snarled beneath his breath, eyes falling shut.

“Wha-why are you being so gentle with me?”

He didn’t want gentle, didn’t want soft or slow. He wanted to feel the split of Grey inside him, the burn of his blood. There was a hot want there, an emptiness that he wanted filled just as much as he wanted to fuck the other man himself. Except, Grey wasn’t helping him, with lips on his throat and fingers on his skin, and the werewolf surged forward.

Pushing at Grey with his strength, he forced them back on the couch, making a home for himself between the splay of the angels legs. Sitting back on his haunches then, Vinny pulled his shirt over his shoulders, his head, and tossed it aside with the popping of seams.

Stretched tall over the darker man, there was a thin quality to his body that he had never held before, brought about by two weeks of self-imposed starvation. Beneath the gold of his skin, his ribs were countable points, and scars littered the taunt flesh, each holding a story of their own from his time serving beneath the previous O’Reilly Alpha. For the first time in his life, there was a self-conscious flush across his skin, and he stared down at the angel with wide green eyes.

Gentle was what he was supposed to be, was it not? The feel of Elvin’s hands on his rear made his hips jerk forward, the sensation having been unexpected, but he drew himself away from the other slowly, as though trying to pretend such a thing had not happened at all.

There was a power shift that he allowed without resistance - why shouldn’t he let the werewolf take control? Despite the length of his life, he was still inexperienced with things such as these; Marla had probably had more sex in her life than he had, and most definitely had had more partners than he.

His eyes were drawn to the other’s bare torso the moment it was exposed, gaze scanning it slowly to memorise every contour, the exact shape of each scar. Greyfiel raised a hand, fingertips trailing lightly over the sharp curve of his ribs, before he decided enough was enough. What he’d done was akin to toying with his food, and it wasn’t fair to him.

The angel’s own shirt was quickly discarded as well, more scars than any mortal being might ever hope to amass in their lifetime visible upon his own epidermis. Places where, back in 740 B.C., people who tried to be physicians had bled him in hopes of curing his sickness, and others where soldiers had broken his body down. His body told the tale of every fight he’d been in up until his death - a great number of them, clearly.

Written over them in fine black lettering, mostly script style, were words. Some were simple phrases, yet others were reminders of things he’d once had, and had learned to let go of. He could have easily communicated with his tattoos rather than his notebook, had he only rolled up his sleeves to reveal the common words, he chose not to.

There was no shame in the werewolf’s thin appearance, though he did feel bad that the man had gone through such things while Grey had been, as he’d put it, fockin’ his sister. Instead of making a move to comment upon it, he reached up, a hand going around the back of Vinny’s neck. He used the spot to pull him down into another kiss, glad for this moment of intimacy.

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

He’d been prepared for it in a way, he’d known that his words would have consequences, that there would be a response to the things that he did. Still, there was a difference between Marla and Grey, and Vinny felt it then in its truest form. Startled, eyes wide, he watched as the world shifted suddenly, and a high yelp fell from his lips.

“Greyfiel!”

Grey’s mouth was hot against his own, and Vinny pressed into the contact with a muffled moan. Fingers finding Grey’s hips, they dug at the space above the waistband, nails scratching at the skin. There was something soft about the contact between them, and he wasn’t used to that, he didn’t know soft. Marla was always hot, heavy in the fierce way that she took to the rest of life, and Vinny felt flustered beneath the bright burn of those dark eyes.

He would have stopped, but Vinny seemed to wish to continue, and so he did. The angel shifted on the other, pressing his body closer to him. One hand rose, settling upon the werewolf’s cheek, even as he felt the pressure of the blond’s fingers on his waistband.

Elvin’s name was formed on his lips, even as he withdrew to leave sharp kisses on his neck, nipping at the skin every so often. He could make him bleed, couldn’t he? The desire was there, but he forced it down, though he pushed harder against the werewolf. If only he could speak to him, but that was out of the question; actions alone would have to suffice.

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

Pressing himself closer, Vinny’s hands slipped to tangle in Grey’s hair, dark strands caught between his fingers. Thigh spread wide, an obscene sort of arch settled through his spine, and he pressed his hips down in a blatant offering to the other man.

“Wanted it f’weeks, angel, but y’were focking my sister.”

There was no malice to his words though, not even in the growl that overtook his tone. Instead, a heady rumble overtook his throat, words thick along his tongue. He wanted to feel the hard, biting press of fingertips in his skin, the burning stretch of something hot inside of him. Nipping at the hinge of his jaw, Vinny let out a quiet, breathy whine against the other man’s temple.

“I want y’to fock me for a change.”

There was tension in his jeans after a mere moment of Vinny being pressed against him, his surprise having caused his usual control to slip. Had it been any other time, he may have questioned the blond, but surely by now he knew his own mind.

It sounded less like a request and more like an order, so he took it as one. Less thinking meant less inhibitions, after all, and while he burned with God-given light, he wished to burn for a different reason.

With practiced ease, he rolled them both to the side, shifting to straddle the werewolf. He kissed him gently at first, his knees tight against the man's sides. There was more to sex than simply fucking, after all, and if he was to have sex with Elvin O'Reilly, he would do it with love.

[okayophelia]

Archetypes | THE WILD MESSIAH

He is neither gentle nor kind, except in the most terrible of ways. He has the holy fire of the gods within him, that leaves his body gaunt, his blood burning, and his eyes intoxicating. There is some violent grace in him, hollowed out and full of light, that sends the sinful running and the fanatics spinning. He will come in from the wild not with peace but with rage, shaking with the tension of mortal flesh and blood that must hold the divine by sheer force of will. Where he walks power unfolds, untaming beasts, cracking temples and unfettering hearts. When he speaks of what he sees in his waking dreams the masses will listen with a blind passion. He is a theatre; he is a living church; he can never be what he is, which is human. People follow him like sheep, and become as lions. There is love in him enough to sunder nations. In the curve of his smile, in the ripple of the violence he does upon the old world, the universe comes together again.

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

Eyes narrowing, Vinny stared up at the other for a moment before pulling back. Words slow, slurring across his tongue, the werewolf grazed his teeth across Grey’s shoulder. He lurched to his feet in a quick, gliding motion though, rolling into a spin that had him facing the other. 

From there he bent forward, knees pressed to the couch wide over the spread of Grey’s thighs, and he tilted his head at the other. Green eyes bright, he plucked the book from the couch cushion to stare at it for a moment with idle fascination, as if it were what had grasped him in the first place.

Keep reading

His brows drew together before furrowing, more from worry and concern than anything else. Vinny hadn’t been acting like himself for the past few days, after all, and Grey didn’t know if this was just another part of that . . strangeness. Even so, he didn’t question it, though his cheeks darkened at the werewolf’s words.

I haven’t been telling you no - in fact, I haven’t said anything to it whatsoever. The angel chose his words carefully, not giving the other a direct yes or no answer, nor suggesting anything else. He leaned in towards the other, letting their lips brush in the vaguest semblance of a kiss. Is that really what you were hoping for, Vinny? If it was, Greyfiel saw no reason to deny him, his own comfort be damned (though he’d probably enjoy it later).

[not-wicked]

{ elvin-king; }

There was something comforting in the heavy, exotic feeling of feathers fitted around his shoulder. Greyfiel had stretched them out as if they were nothing, and under the weight of them Vinny had curled himself into the other man. It had taken days, well over a week for himself to become comfortable in his own skin once more, and even then, Vinny still felt the scratch of something that didn’t belong within his bones.

Pressed tight against the angels side, he watched as long fingers turned another page in the book. He’d never read it himself, had instead purchased it on a midnight binge with too much television and no Marla awake to tell him no. Tilting his head, Vinny nuzzled along the familiar line of Grey’s throat, lips trailing across his skin.

“You’re going to read all night again, aren’t you?”

He turned to let his gaze alight upon Vinny, moving his shoulders in a small shrug. I might, unless you have something in mind, he wrote, his words innocent despite the meaning that could easily be gained from them. Grey leaned down, letting his lips brush lightly over the werewolf’s forehead. Reading was something he enjoyed, but there were better things to do with his life.

The angel set aside his book, holding only his little notebook then. We could go outside for a bit, to take a walk? He did miss the outdoors a bit, after all, as he’d stuck himself to Vinny’s side ever since he’d gotten back home.

[not-wicked]

for @elvin-king

More often than not, Greyfiel preferred quiet nights. Now that he’d taken to hanging around the O’Reilly house, he hadn’t left in days, and had made himself - up until then - somewhat at home. Though the book in his hands looked barely cracked, he’d read that particular work of literature dozens of times, all in different editions over the years. Beowulf had been modernised repeatedly, after all, and he’d read it from first print all the way up until the current time, in the original Old English and in the crudest of modern forms.

His wings were out in the air, but he kept one curled around his frame, the other extended and settled around Elvin’s shoulders. The angel had grown protective of him in the days since his return, in the same way he would have been with Marla, had she been in the same situation. Though he had yet to ask her how she felt about this, surely she would be fine with it - she had to care for her brother as much as he did, after all.