‘ Then have me. ‘
Shivers grow across spine, fingers reaching to claw against pale
shoulders, They dig, press, beg for the sweet touch of fire against his own frozen
skin. They worship the labeled god above him, touch of lips against his throat eliciting
prayers any scion would be envious of. It burns, scalds, && gives way to the demons
beneath his chest; clawing, scratching, devouring spirits he has fought to keep at bay.
Yet here, they are free, his heart no longer shackled and body alive. Eyes close in this
testimony of peace && sanctuary, breathing stopping as pulse jumps and hunger grows.
‘ You have always had me, Thexan. ‘
A truth that stings; words cauterise the open
wound he knows can only be rectified with the
other. This communion, this yielding of purity,
will haunt and carry yet caution is avoided,
lips forming the other’s name as if in holy &&
damning invocation.
( and if this is the only affair that forces fear && anger to
fade, if this is the only way eyes may clear and head may
regain some form of sanity, then so be it. for this is agony;
an affliction that may never cease, never truly dissipate even
as touch and devotion, dedication, is given without restraint. )
Body moves, twists, as it begins to demand, no longer able to lay idle in the
other’s grasp. He is no captive, even in this. Here, he is commanding, force
and stature the tools of such joining. He is as he is elsewhere; brash, selfish,
ravenous. He is starved as he is in all things; affection, praise, acknowledgment.
There is no peace in his want, his greed. And so he climbs atop his other half, takes
arms and pins them to sheets too white, too sterile for such a devious act.
Hands push, force unrestrained in the face of his equal.
Thexan can handle it, can take what he gives like no other.
It forces eyes open in a flash, the beast inside identical hues
so different to the ones he now connects with. There, they are
a sea; calm && stable. Yet, there is fire nonetheless. Within his
own he knows there is a fire unyielding, uncontrollable; the sin
of his own downfall. It takes and takes and takes, and never
does it have enough. They speak of this foul thing, this force
of inhuman qualities. But tonight is not a night for talk, for the
shattering truth he chooses to ignore.
Tonight, they will ignore their sacrifices.
‘ And yet, even with my warning, you still take far too long.
I think you enjoy my temper. You seem to inspire it often enough. ‘
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