#s:drabble

[soflopme-blog]

🔷

🔷 a kiss on the eyelid

Cisza dzwoniła jej w uszach i aż bolała ją od tego głowa. Nienawidziła szpitali. Źle jej się kojarzyły, ale teraz nie miała innego wyjścia, jak zostać tutaj chociaż na kilka dni. Tracenie przytomności, zaraz po zejściu na scenie nie należało do czegoś co robiła na co dzień i wolałaby tego nie powtarzać. Wciąż bolał ją łokieć i łuk brwiowy, który sobie rozcięła. Takiego pecha mogła mieć tylko ona.

Zapaliła lampkę, stojącą koło jej łóżka szpitalnego i powoli postawiła nogi na zimnej podłodze. Trochę zakręciło jej się w głowie, ale zamknęła na chwilę oczy, a wszystko wróciło do normy. Nałożywszy swoje klapki, wstała. Miała nadzieję, że nikt o tej porze nie będzie przechadzał się korytarzem…oprócz niej. Soyou podeszła do drzwi i najciszej jak potrafiła wymknęła się ze swojej sali. Kucając przemknęła przed pokojem pielęgniarek i szła dalej, w poszukiwaniu jakiś atrakcji. Pierwszym pomysłem, który wpadł jej do głowy, było zejście na sam dół i kupienie sobie gorącej czekolady, ale szybko z tego zrezygnowała, bo nie wzięła ze sobą żadnych drobnych, a nie zamierzała się wracać, była już dość daleko. 

Szła wzdłuż korytarza, który im dalej, tym mniej był oświetlony. Na samym jego końcu dostrzegła pojedynczą smugę światła, która wylewała się ze szpary półotwartych drzwi. Starając się nie robić hałasu, podreptała w tamtym kierunku. Delikatnie uchyliła drzwi, prowadzona jakimś dziwnym, nagłym przypływem szaleństwa, by wkradać się do czyiś pokoi.Zdziwiła się na to co zobaczyła. Na małej kanapie, leżał odwrócony w jej stronę, młody mężczyzna, a może jeszcze chłopak. Zgadywała, że był tutaj lekarzem, gdyż miał na sobie białe ubranie i wiszącą przy kieszonce plakietkę. Zbliżyła się zainteresowana, kucając przy śpiącym nieznajomym. Chwilę mu się przyglądała, zafascynowana jego śpiącym wyrazem twarzy. Nagle chłopak ściągnął brwi, jakby śniło mu się coś niemiłego. Soyou bez dłuższego myślenia, pochyliła się i złożyła delikatny pocałunek na jego powiece. Odsunęła się po krótkiej chwili, czując, że nieznajomy poruszył się. Natychmiast podniosła się, aż zakręciło jej się w głowie. Ostatni raz spojrzała na śpiącą postać, odwróciła się na pięcie i zniknęła za drzwiami, by wrócić do swojej sali. 

[sam-korba-blog-blog]

Brother, Where Art Thou? | Betrayer's Moon

He knew it would be in his head. Damsel warned him that it would all be in his head.

And yet it was real.

Sam stared into the eyes of a monster and knew he would die.

Chains clinked and clanged around him, shuffling with his body. He was draped in long, swooping links to keep him subdued, the silver falling against sun-kissed skin like death falling against life, robbing it of its vigor. He felt sick--sicker than usual, like his stomach wanted to run right out of his body. He dripped with cold sweat, light brown eyes never quite focusing on anything in the darkness in front of him. His breaths punctuated the silence in heavy haphazard wheezes, coming and going as his muscles spasmed under the heavy metal, preparing for the inevitable.

He dropped down to his knees and the darkness flickered before him, morphing in front of him as the shadows came together, gaseous at first, then liquid, then solid, buzzing in and out of focus like a broken television. He tried to blink it away, choking down the bile creeping up his throat.

Do not look away, Samuel, it hissed. It said no words, but Sam could understand every sound, translated by the wolf ready to rip its claws through his chest. He shook his head, looking down, but the vision followed him, creeping up through the dirty concrete floor, emerging from a fissure all in his mind. 

A man with shoulder-length hair stood wherever he looked, whisking to his gaze with every turn. His face was never complete, the buzzing static of hallucination and insanity constantly shifting his form into half a wolf, half an animal, half a freak. One of his blue eyes stared constantly, never changing, always piercing Sam's chest with his gaze. He begged. Over and over, "Please, stop, please," he asked, quiet and raspy in the back of his voice.

In that face, he saw the best and worst in the world. He saw soft kisses behind the horses and he saw dinners spent laughing hysterically over idle talk. He saw a friend and a man who helped him understand what his life would be--what his beating heart sounded like in the hands of someone who cared. In that face he saw bandages and sickness. 

He saw pain. Agony.

He saw the night he spent running through a forest, bleeding through his jeans. He saw a brother who betrayed him and never stopped him from leaving. He saw a monster whom he loved, a man who forced him to a life bolted to the cement floor through heavy silver chains and heavier bones to house his broken soul.

He saw the monster that he would become with a ripping scream tearing through his chest and splashing sanguine over the bunker floor.

[seoktio]

In which SeMen enjoy their Morning After

The softest whisper of sunlight dances against the closed lid of Sehun’s eye, the thin cover doing little to shield him from the luminescence that filters in from the haphazardly-drawn curtains. His back is aching with an undeniable itch and there’s a distinctly salty taste left on his tongue, the two factors themselves doing much to rouse him even further from the blissful sleep that he’d welcomed just moments ago. If anything, this early wake-up call is a result of his fumbling hands last night— he’d been far too enraptured by the pair of lips that were attached to his own to have any sort of meticulousness when jerking the thick drapes shut, and he really didn’t have the energy to properly clean himself up after tending to the other.

Therefore, it’s understandable, this wretched state of his right now. Or so he tells himself.

A low, cracked groan rumbles deep in Sehun’s chest as he hefts himself up with his hands braced against the plush mattress, mussed sheets pooling around his waist to frame the deliciously marked-up skin that’s laid bare to the morning light. A quick glance down reveals the source of the persistent burn; many long, inconsistent lines of red litter his hips, spanning over his sides (and, assumedly, his back) in an organized chaos of criss-crossed scores that sting when the blankets catch on the rough edges. There’s nothing that he can do to stop the satisfied smile that pulls at the edges of his lips; there was, after all, a deep kind of satisfaction that one gets from being so physically marked up by their significant other.

But this didn’t mean that his lover had absolute ownership over him.

It was, rather, quite on the contrary.

“Ah.” The softest of sighs draws Sehun’s attention away from the scabbing scratches on his alabaster skin, eyes roaming lazily over the luscious curve of the other’s legs and spanning the exposed plateau of his bare back. Each ridge on the other’s spine draws a small shadow in the golden sunlight, painting a rather enticing picture over bruises that were starting to bloom in their true form— all in vivid shades of purple, green, and yellow, the harried results of their escapade last night. Mussed copper hair glints in the low light, framing long lashes and puckered lips that are still plump and moist after hours of sleep; it’s a sight that Sehun can’t bear to take his eyes off of, not until another quiet groan catches his attention.

“Mm…Morning?” Minseok whispers, voice scratchy with sleep as he fumbles blindly for Sehun, his tiny hands patting over pale sheets until they wrap around Sehun’s own fingers. It’s a gesture that leaves the elder to lapse into a rare moment of reverence, his gaze softened to the most unbreachable level of adoration as he quietly watches the other drift in and out of consciousness.

He was a willing prisoner; there was no way to pull him out, not now.

“Morning it is, sweet love.” Sehun confirms, following his words with a muted hum. It’s so very tempting to burrow back into the welcoming blankets and surround himself with Minseok’s enticing scent, but the unrelenting itch on his back draws him off of the bed. He murmurs sweet nothings to placate Minseok enough to coax the other into releasing Sehun’s hand, nuzzling back into the blankets with a quiet noise of contentment while Sehun trods to the bathroom. The thick carpet is forgiving to his bare feet, making it a bit easier to navigate through the mess of half-tied rope, restraints, and other trinkets that Sehun hadn’t had the sanity to clean up the night before. He, of course, had already washed, disinfected, and stored away the toys that had any contact with… bodily fluids before passing out himself - he wouldn’t be so careless as to leave those abandoned, on the floor - but there were quite a few other things that he has yet to put away. He mentally adds that task to his list of priorities to attend to, then stalks past the bathroom threshold.

“…Oh.” A mildly surprised expression is the second thing that he sees through the spotless, full-length mirror that’s facing him. The first, of course, is the expansive collection of scratches, bite marks, and hickeys that he spies over his collarbones, throat, and sides; he hadn’t expected Minseok to be so demanding after finishing the last of their numerous sessions that they held last night. In the spirit of the holiday, he’d allowed the other to do as he wished after the two of them had sufficiently unwound from their roles as Submissive and Dominant. Minseok had been such a good boy, after all— he deserved the reward, and everything else. But the results were something else, he had to admit.

“Where’s the first aid— ah, here we go.” The kit is perched helpfully on the granite counter, exactly where he’d left it last night after attending to Minseok. It’s a quick matter to rub some disinfectant over the worst of his injuries (it seems that Minseok has longer nails than he’d first thought) and apply self-stick gauze with petroleum jelly over the cuts that were still bleeding. The slight sting of the alcohol is something that he’s entirely willing to endure; Minseok had done that, and much more, after all.

The peaceful interlude offers Sehun a chance to reminisce the night before: vivid images of Minseok, flushed in pleasure and embarrassment, and the delightful positions that he’d been compelled - ordered - to take, all under Sehun’s watchful eyes. Shades of scarlet litter the softest part of the other’s ass in a painfully wonderful display of controlled sado-masochism, Sehun’s handprints lost amongst the layer upon layer of red. Oh, the mere memory sends shivers up his spine and chills down his arms.

He supposes that the lingering aftereffects were part of the reason as to why he enjoyed this kind of relationship so much.

“Sir— Sehun,” A hesitant voice calls from the adjacent bedroom, stilling Sehun’s movements as he finishes up the last of the dressing. He’s quick to re-pack the first aid kit, fingers roaming the edge of his boxers in thought before he decides to forego the idea of getting clothed altogether.

“I’m right here, stay in bed.” Sehun replies, raising his voice just enough so that he’s heard through the thick walls. It seems that Minseok was still entangled enough in his role so that Sehun’s absence was sufficient in alarming him; post-session cuddles must still be in effect, he muses.

It’s only moments later that Sehun crawls back into bed, breath fresh with toothpaste and eyes sparkling in adoration as he pulls Minseok back into his arms. The other’s chin tucks right under Sehun’s neck and their arms slot together perfectly.

The fit is impeccable; Sehun marvels that they must have been made as two parts of a whole, though that might just be his bias speaking.

“Stay, you deserve a lazy morning.” Sehun murmurs into Minseok’s hair, holding him down with his arms when the other makes a move to rise. Breakfast can be ignored - they’ll just have an early lunch - and he doesn’t want Minseok moving, not when he’s still bruised and worn out from the night before. Plus, he’s set on indulging himself on the other’s company just a little bit longer, just a few minutes more…

“Mm.” Minseok finally sighs in agreement, all tension bleeding out from his shoulders as he relaxes into Sehun’s embrace once more, nosing at the elder’s chest until they’re all but squished together amidst  the mess of blankets that surround them. Sehun can feel the drowsiness gripping at the edge of his vision once more, enticing him, luring him, drawing him back into its grasp; he only relents after seeing Minseok’s breath even out and his eyes slide shut, jaw going lax as the two drift back into sleep once more. To hell with responsibilities.

There really couldn’t have been a more perfect morning.

[wordsandverses-blog]

Samuel | Rusty Nail | Mini Drabble

It hurt.

God, that’s all he could describe it as: pure, unadulterated ache. It wasn’t pain, yet. While the moon drowned in the horizon, clawing its way to the surface sky, the blackness looming behind the oranges, pinks, and purples of the sunset, Sam’s bones began to feel like they didn’t belong. His body was heavy, every tendon dragging against muscle that rejected it, the very sinews screaming against each other as something boiled beneath the surface. His skin itched, too tight and too loose all at once.

Quietly, he retired to the back of his bunker, watching the sun begin to dip down below the treeline. He felt the murder inside of him, eking into his teeth and making them grind, shivering in the very bones of it in a cruel, evil sort of throbbing. Groaning, he bent down to lift the underground flap and check that the brass key to the iron padlock on the cage door was still within reach before closing it and stepping inside the cage plated with silver. Using his shirt sleeve, he closed the door behind him and reached through the bars to shut the padlock, shaking it a few times before he stripped of all clothes and sat at the bottom of the cage, staring out at the open door where stars began to glint.

White light suddenly poured into his small home, the full moon, giant and horrid, peeked up over the firs. He breathed in deep through his nostrils, biting his lip as bile rose up his throat and a wild cry tore through his chest, the dull ache of the afternoon suddenly transforming into all-encompassing agony, ripping through his flesh and forcing him onto his back, writhing and gasping for air.

A deafening crack echoed through the bunker, Sam’s spine breaking under the weight of the transformation, forcing a haggard yell from him. Spine burning, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, the bones of his fingers contorting with uncontrollable twitches and spasms, each ragged movement screaming with another loud pop. His feet lengthened as his toes became the primary place for the weight of his grotesque body. Hair sprouted where bones jutted out, his body becoming streamlined for running nowhere, sleek like a wolf’s should be as his tail grew long and strong from his back.

Like every moon, Sam clung to consciousness, his razor-sharp nails gripping to sanity, but as his teeth moved forward into a predator’s snarl, the wolf began to speak, mostly in pictures of gore and blood, in wants and needs and anger and wildness, but Sam was lost.

His honey brown eyes settled against the blackness of the wolf’s, the animal pacing his cage and howling as it won it’s claim over the man, immediately slamming its hulking mass against the silver and burning itself as it did every time, singing its fur against the bars and yelping before growling, snarling, drool dripping from the glinting ivory of its jaws. It was angry. So fucking angry. It’s teeth needed flesh to tear, it’s body needed to hunt, needed to taste blood on its tongue, down its throat, in its stomach. It was desperate. Knowing it would be confined again, again, again, a-fucking-gain, it dropped down to the floor, growling, and trapped its own paw in it’s razor-sharp maw, biting down and practically groaning in relief at the taste of blood, the feel of bones crunching and flesh tearing.

Felt so good.

Felt so good.

[sam-korba-blog-blog]

His Flesh Burns with Homicide | Full Moon Drabble

It hurt.

God, that's all he could describe it as: pure, unadulterated ache. It wasn't pain, yet. While the moon drowned in the horizon, clawing its way to the surface sky, the blackness looming behind the oranges, pinks, and purples of the sunset, Sam's bones began to feel like they didn't belong. His body was heavy, every tendon dragging against muscle that rejected it, the very sinews screaming against each other as something boiled beneath the surface. His skin itched, too tight and too loose all at once.

Quietly, he retired to the back of his bunker, watching the sun begin to dip down below the treeline. He felt the murder inside of him, eking into his teeth and making them grind, shivering in the very bones of it in a cruel, evil sort of throbbing. Groaning, he bent down to lift the underground flap and check that the brass key to the iron padlock on the cage door was still within reach before closing it and stepping inside the cage plated with silver. Using his shirt sleeve, he closed the door behind him and reached through the bars to shut the padlock, shaking it a few times before he stripped of all clothes and sat at the bottom of the cage, staring out at the open door where stars began to glint.

White light suddenly poured into his small home, the full moon, giant and horrid, peeked up over the firs. He breathed in deep through his nostrils, biting his lip as bile rose up his throat and a wild cry tore through his chest, the dull ache of the afternoon suddenly transforming into all-encompassing agony, ripping through his flesh and forcing him onto his back, writhing and gasping for air.

I'm back.

A deafening crack echoed through the bunker, Sam's spine breaking under the weight of the transformation, forcing a haggard yell from him. Spine burning, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, the bones of his fingers contorting with uncontrollable twitches and spasms, each ragged movement screaming with another loud pop. His feet lengthened as his toes became the primary place for the weight of his grotesque body. Hair sprouted where bones jutted out, his body becoming streamlined for running nowhere, sleek like a wolf's should be as his tail grew long and strong from his back.

Like every moon, Sam clung to consciousness, his razor-sharp nails gripping to sanity, but as his teeth moved forward into a predator's snarl, the wolf began to speak, mostly in pictures of gore and blood, in wants and needs and anger and wildness, but Sam was lost.

His honey brown eyes settled against the blackness of the wolf's, the animal pacing his cage and howling as it won it's claim over the man, immediately slamming its hulking mass against the silver and burning itself as it did every time, singing its fur against the bars and yelping before growling, snarling, drool dripping from the glinting ivory of its jaws. It was angry. So fucking angry. It's teeth needed flesh to tear, it's body needed to hunt, needed to taste blood on its tongue, down its throat, in its stomach. It was desperate. Knowing it would be confined again, again, again, a-fucking-gain, it dropped down to the floor, growling, and trapped its own paw in it's razor-sharp maw, biting down and practically groaning in relief at the taste of blood, the feel of bones crunching and flesh tearing.

Felt so good.

Felt so good.