Uzumaki's Note:
The follow three oneshots
are by DARK KI, not me. She doesn't have a website, so I offered to put
them online for her.
ALL fanart of goth!Sora and goth!Riku should be
sent to HER email address, karmacitadel@gmail.com
Turnabout --
Author's Note: This is definitely an AU.
This is definitely smutty. This isn't my usual thing. But the damned
black-furred, red-eyed plotbunny wouldn't leave until it was written. It bared
its fangs and hissed at me. It _hissed_! What else could I do? So here it is...
... and no, Sora is not in drag. XD
Turnabout
by Dark Ki
No matter how much he tries to blend in, he has the eyes of everyone in the
place on him. The poor kid looks like he's about to bolt, chewing on the edge
of a finger as he pushes through the crowd. His outfit is perfect, despite how
obviously nervous he is to be wearing it. It's like a bunch of his friends shoved
him into the clothes and pushed him into the club to fend for himself. How
adorable he is... if you could call showing off all that skin
"adorable."
The air-conditioning is making his nipples stand out under the fine mesh of his
body stocking shirt, the black material clinging to every slender curve. It
runs down his arms in formfitting sleeves, over the back of his hands in a V
that terminates in a silver ring around his middle fingers. An ankle length
black silk skirt rests low on his hips, showing off a slice of pale, flat
stomach. A long hip-to-hem slit on either side of the skirt shows off slim legs
clad in a delicate crochet-style spiderweb thigh-highs as he worms his way
through the crush of people. The lights reflect off the three rings on his
heavy slave belt and the single one dangling from his collar, which I can
clearly see is a somewhat asymmetrical heart.
Too, too delicious. I'm up in a second, making my way over to him. He stops
dead, looking up at me with wide blue eyes outlined in kohl, like an Egyptian
pleasure slave. His dark hair is wild, tousled and spiky, a few locks flopping
over his forehead and framing his face. He's so delicate, I'm almost afraid
I'll break him just by looking at him. The heavy downbeat of the music might be
enough to shake him apart. I hook one finger through the center ring on his
belt, pulling him closer. His eyes grow huge, and I smile at the sight,
shifting my weight casually to one hip. He rests a pale little hand on my
shoulder to steady himself, his dusty rose-tinged lips parting slightly. Those
lips are so soft and full, begging for me....
But not here. I'm not sharing this treasure with anyone else.
Still holding onto the ring in his belt, I draw him toward the back of the
club, the colored lights dancing through the shadows on our faces. He stumbles
after me, dazed and trusting, entranced by the promise of something new and
forbidden. He only whimpers when we step into a curtained off area; I mute the
pulse of the trance music to a dull heartbeat by drawing the heavy velvet
drapes, sealing us into a dim little corner with a single plush divan. I pull
him down onto the divan and undo his Doc Martens, letting them drop to the
floor with heavy thuds. His feet, like the rest of him, are small and delicate
with cutely longish toes. I want to kiss them, work my way over every inch of
him, but the music and the need and those huge sapphire eyes won't let me wait.
Reaching under his skirt through those convenient slits, I find a pair of silky
briefs as my only obstacle. He lays back, lifting his hips so I can remove that
simple barrier and toss it to the floor. He's following my lead so easily, but
his shyness is intoxicating. I can't help but smile, settling my weight atop
him and tugging on his belt-rings. He arches his hips toward me, a soft whine
in his throat, his head almost thrown back over the edge of the divan. His skin
is cool under my lips, ever so faintly salty-sweet as I suck on his neck to
leave a small mark. His shirt hikes up, baring more of that flat but unsculpted
stomach, the body of a beautiful little waif. I grind against him, delighting
in his reaction as he pushes up into me with a wanting little moan.
Fuck delicacy... he'll drive me insane with those noises if I keep ignoring my
libido. I can't control myself. I don't want to. He's like a drug in my veins,
more potent than anything this place has ever seen. I look into his eyes as
they roll back, his hands reaching down to push aside the front panel of his
skirt. He's hard already, crystal pearls of wetness just gathering at the tip.
The moans he makes as he strokes himself slowly ignite a fire in my blood, and
I slap his hand aside to plunge my mouth down over his cock. His breathless cry
sends shivers along my spine, his hands knotting in my hair as I work him over.
I'm a master... I don't _do_ this kind of thing... but I have to taste him. I'm
sucking him down to the root and making him scream. It's a distraction, I tell
myself, just a distraction... because I don't want him to buck when I get my
fingers inside him.
I don't need my hands to keep him occupied, rocking my mouth up and down his
aching flesh, working the ball of my tongue bar lightly along the vein. His
heels drum against the velvet cushions, strangled little gasps and sobs pouring
from his lips. He twitches against my tongue; there's no way this virginal
little delight will last very long in my hands. I only torture him for a few
minutes, long enough to locate the small metal vial of oil I keep for just this
kind of opportunity. He whines as I draw away, flicking my tongue against the
swollen head one last time before I sit up. I lean back against the wall and
let my legs hang over the edge of the divan, enjoying the sound of his soft
panting. He finds the strength to sit up, watching me open the vial. I grin,
snapping my fingers and pointing at the floor at my feet. He drops to his knees
before me in a blink, bracing his hands on my thighs as he undoes the laces of
my pants with his teeth. Shaking hands delve into the leather confines, freeing
me from the pinching tightness. I push the fingers of my free hand between his
lips, opening his mouth so I can pour a little of the edible oil onto the tip
of his tongue. He gets the idea right away, the softest blush lighting his cheeks
as he lowers his head to swallow me.
That oiled tongue is wicked, barely moving but feeling like pleasure itself.
The uncertainty makes him perfect, leaving him to shyly explore for the spots
that will make me claw for control that I really don't want. He works the oil
over me, his senses surely overwhelmed by the taste of bittersweet chocolate. I
stroke his soft hair, further ruffling the dark auburn-brown spikes, and offer
a quiet moan of encouragement. The music outside the curtain has taken on an even
deeper rhythm, the muffled drumbeats throbbing against my skin, like being
cradled inside a giant heart. Something familiar and hard presses into the
underside of my head, a point of blunt pressure that makes me groan even
louder. God, this innocent little boy has a piercing to match my own. I didn't
even see it, but the surprise is more than worth it. My hips rock up off the
divan, screwing his mouth with slow, shallow thrusts. He doesn't stop, not even
when I dig my nails into his scalp. If he keeps this up, I'm finished, and I
have no intention of ending this now.
I tug hard on his hair, lifting his head from my lap. His eyes are almost
glassy, delirious, a thin trickle of mingled oil and saliva trailing down his
chin from one corner of his mouth. Enough of this playing... there's no danger
of him running now, no chance he'll chicken out. I let go of him and lounge
against the wall... I am king of my domain, ruler of his senses, and I want
what's mine. One look and he's in motion, crawling over me, pushing the folds
of his skirt to either side and straddling my lap. He wraps his arms around my
shoulders, and mine go around his waist in case he starts to tumble backward.
His cock presses against me as he lowers himself, a strong shudder shaking his
lithe frame as I break him open. His head falls back, moaning in concert with
me. This body... he's so tight, so hot, I can't do anything but lower my hands
to his hips, gripping them until my knuckles whiten and I find myself pounding
up into him. I'm caught, I'm lost, I don't care who's the master and who's the
slave now. All that matters are the cries of wanton lust, the scent of sex and
the heat of wet friction between our bodies. He rides me like he was born to,
rolling his hips in perfect synch with mine.
I think I'm going to explode. I can't stop hammering into him, bouncing him in
my lap. My eyes roll back in my head, my breath catching in my throat as his
nails scratch convulsively at my shoulders. I can feel my lips quivering,
gasping into his mouth as he leans into me for a desperate kiss. Our tongues
dart and slide against each other, our barbells clicking within the wet tangle.
His muscles contract sharply, and I damn near lose it right then as he grips my
cock like a vise. I tear my mouth away, struggling not to scream with passion;
I've never felt anything like this in my life. It's like he knows just what to
do to me, not demanding my submission, but neither is he allowing me to
dominate him. He can't be a virgin, he just can't, no matter how virginal his
body might feel. I couldn't care if I wanted to... I just want to bury myself
in him, body and soul, and never separate. He presses his face into the side of
my neck, panting harder and harder as he's impaled with every stroke, his
weeping length rubbing forcefully into my abs. My hands knead his hips and ass,
every pass of my black-painted nails leaving marks that surely flush from white
to red in a matter of moments, coaxing him to a perfect climax... because I
sure as hell won't last much longer in this inhumanly perfect moment of raw
sex. Stars slowly bloom behind my eyelids as I close them, teetering on the
brink of orgasm as he sucks in a small mouthful of my neck, right over the
madly fluttering vein, tasting my pulse with his studded tongue.
The twin spikes of starfire and white lightning that stab into my jugular send
me reeling into oblivion, arching into one last thrust with a broken scream. My
eyes snap open again, nearly bulging in mingled pain and ecstasy, shuddering
with every deep pull at my veins. He's still riding me, but there's no shy
innocence in his movements. He's fucking me now, even with my body buried in
his, a softly purring moan vibrating against the raw feeling of his kiss.
Oh my god.
Oh. My. God.
My mouth opens wide, but all that comes out is a strangled little whimper, as
pitiful as the ones he made before. My nails cut into his ass, leaving him with
bleeding little crescents under his dark skirt. His tongue presses against the
blooming bruise on my neck as he sucks, imitating the in and out of sex. I buck
hard, not out of a need to escape, to throw him off, but out of a need for
release. I have to have it, before I die of this unnatural union. He clamps
down in answer, squeezing me within him until the stars in my head go nova. I'm
already slumping to one side as I erupt inside him; he spills himself against
my abs as he follows me down onto the divan, holding me pinned... captive... as
everything just fades away around me.
Turnabout really is fair play.
~Owari...?~
The SEQUELS to Turnabout
are below
[FIC] Bittersweet & Shattenjager -- Companions to Turnabout
Author's Note: First of all, Bittersweet. This is
Turnabout from Sora's POV. READ TURNABOUT FIRST or you'll spoil the
overall surprise for yourself. This is much darker than Turnabout, so
you have been warned.
Bittersweet
by Dark Ki
Cerise Noir is busy tonight.
Then again, it's busy every night. They crowd into here like a school of fish,
a wave of glittering motion amongst the deep black of their clothes. No matter
what they wear, they can never truly be dark. They're all pretenders, with
their meaningless pentagrams and their makeup. None of them will ever
understand what it's like to be what I am, both trapped and free. If I showed
them my true face, all of their fragile masks would shatter and they'd flee in
blind panic. No, to them I'm just a stranger in this place, wrapped in the
guise of a shy newcomer. I'm only easy prey to their mortal lusts, not the one
who's provided them with this haven. Cerise Noir is mine... their playground,
my hunting grounds.
I chew on the edge of my finger as I move through the crush of bodies,
slithering past grinding dancers like a shadow. My face is a mask of nervous
anxiety, a perfect lure for would-be hunters. I see flashes of the lights
reflected in their eyes as I pass them by; they hold such lust for the virgin
they believe me to be. Common vermin, really, and I have no interest in a quick
conquest. I've grown tired of such easy prey. That is the only danger I fear...
ennui, the boredom of passing years without the joy of strategy. It's simply
too easy and unrewarding sometimes to be the pinnacle of the food chain.
But then my eyes flicker over a spill of silver hair, tinted the colors of deep
polar ice by the lights. He's got both arms over his head, grinding his hips
against the air as if there's no one worthy of partnering with him. The cocky
self-assurance rolls off him in waves; this one could have anyone he wants, but
he's bored with all of them. His half-lidded eyes, dusted with white and silver
that clings to pale lashes, speak volumes of his own ennui. He's a thousand
miles distant from everyone in the room, even though they flow past him in
sweaty droves.
Long legs, slim but strong and sheathed in formfitting leather, draw my eyes
upward. The short vest is the same material, open in the front to show off a
sliver of sculpted chest and two necklaces, one silver, one a longer black cord
with a silver heptagram star in a circle. His midriff and lower back are
exposed, showing off a thin black tattoo positioned where his hand would be if
he rested it on his right hip. It's an outfit he can get out of easily, despite
how tight those pants are. Every sway of his body has the four chains at his left
hip jangling softly, my sharp hearing picking the sound out through the
pounding music. His heavy boots barely make any sound at all, proving how light
he is on his feet. Slim wrists ringed in studded leather wristbands blend up
into powerful arms, gleaming with sweat and black and silver glitter from some
teenygoth girl who brushed against him.
He's beautiful, and he knows it.
If I didn't love breaking the most arrogant of prey, I'd hate him until it made
me sick.
I watch him dance until he decides to take a break, settling into a seat. He
orders a clear drink and takes it down in a few swallows, his skin gleaming. I
don't mind giving him a few minutes to settle, to enjoy what time he has to
himself. The sense of masterful superiority he exudes makes me laugh inwardly.
Poor creature, to be the sparrow hunting the worm even as that sparrow is
hunted by a falcon.
{Look at me.}
He doesn't even realize he's been influenced. He looks right at me, and I see
his eyes narrow in appraisal. I've got him before he even slips off his seat,
making his way through the crowd toward me. My innocent mask hasn't slipped
even a fraction, drawing him in with no effort. He snags the center ring in my
slave belt, pulling me toward him as if we've been magnetized. His face is
lovely, masculine and yet too beautiful to be manly, green eyes as deep as
layers of sea-glass made all the more striking by fair skin and the
silver-white hair plastered to his face and neck. He might not be human, with
such an appearance, but to be snared by my mind so easily....
He smirks when I widen my eyes, turning up the virginal charm to full blast.
He's done for now, drawing me back toward the privacy curtains by virtue of my
belt. I stumble after him, letting him believe he's in control, but it's a
complete falsehood. He isn't in control... his libido is, backed by and
strengthened by my glamour ability. Feh, the fool's already at half-mast under
those tight leather pants of his. His lust for the virgin he believes me to be
is so strong, I can taste it like a sweet spice in my senses. I whimper out of
curiosity for his reaction, and I catch the scent of his pulse quickening in
anticipation. He snaps the curtain shut behind us, shrouding the scene of our
illicit tryst. I smirk inwardly at the sight of the red velvet divan he's
pulling me down onto; I've seduced more than one target here, so it's become a
place of mixed feelings for me. His fingers pluck at the laces of my Doc
Martens, and I wiggle my toes inside my thigh-highs once they're off. He seems
entranced by my feet... hmm, this one could have some interesting kinks.
His hands slip through the full-length slits in my skirt, gliding up my thighs
until he finds my skimpy underwear. I fall back in a false swoon, arching my
hips to assist and entice. He sees me as so eager, an initiate to his masterful
seduction. Something about him _is_ seducing me, my body having traded one
addiction for another, an addiction only he can satisfy. The cool air brushes
across my thighs as he shifts closer, finding my neck as he tugs on my belt,
drawing me up against the body covering mine. My shirt bunches up under my arms
as he grinds against me and I writhe into him, my bare chest sliding against
his.
I'm such a good little toy for him, my eyes rolling back as I move the
kick-pleat of my skirt off the hard-on that's tenting it. He watches me as I
tease myself, the fingers that know my cock better than anyone else ever could
playing notes of dull pleasure up my spine. It's more for his benefit than
mine, the stroking and the soft whimpering moans I feed him with. I barely feel
anything in my flesh now... until he slaps my hand and I let go in mild
amusement to see what he'll do. I'm _not_ expecting what he does, which is to
swallow me to the hilt in one go. All of a sudden, there's something burning
through me, sensation I've never felt and never wanted to feel before now, and
I can't stop myself from grabbing him by the hair and slamming up into his
mouth in reflex. I'm crying out, drawing in air I don't need for a scream I
can't stop, and for a moment I wonder if I've lost control of this. He has to
stop, I _need_ him to stop, or I'll forget what I'm trying to do.
His tongue piercing rubs along the underside of my erection, making my legs
spasm and my heels bang into the padding under me. The passionate sounds I'm
hearing have to be from someone else, because I'd never make noises like this.
It's torture when he finally pulls back, an unfamiliar, pleasant burn between
my legs. He sits against the wall, legs dangling off the divan as he opens a
little metal bottle he's pulled from somewhere. He's flashing a charming grin
at me, snapping his fingers and pointing to the floor as if I'm some slave! I
feel hot anger bubbling in my stomach, but I choke it back. Now, feeding from
this monochrome peacock is a personal vendetta. I settle to my knees, snagging
the laces holding his fly closed with my teeth. The hunger is tearing at me,
making me shake like the junkie I am as I pull him free of those tight pants. I
make an involuntary sound in the back of my throat, out of the range of human
hearing, as he pushes his fingers into my mouth to open it. Alright, let him
have his fun for now... it's not like the bittersweet chocolate oil he pours
onto my tongue is that bad. I curl my tongue to keep the oil in place as I
lower my head to his lap, slowly drawing him in inch by inch.
The peacock groans, his hands stroking through my hair. His touch isn't
unpleasant, just strange. No one ever stroked my hair this way before. The
bitch that bore me only grabbed it, just as my former tricks used to do. She
held me by it when she slit my throat and threw me into the street to die. The
one who rebirthed me pulled me from the gutter by my hair. Everyone hurt me
with my own hair, but not this boy. He's too busy moaning and panting under his
breath as I suck his cock, my tongue barbell all but grinding into the vein. It
must hurt, but he's so wrapped up in this I don't think he really cares. He
bucks off the divan, pressing between my lips with short, slow movements. Now I
feel his nails in my scalp, not that it surprises me. He can't hurt me that
way, even if he wanted to. The tugging grows more insistent, until I grant him
mercy by lifting my head. Hell, I want to smirk at him, to show him he's been
bested, but I can't risk him snapping out of his lustful trance. He sinks back
against the wall, smiling at me, and my entire body aches with anticipation. I
crawl into his lap, flipping the folds of my skirt to either side and draping
my arms loosely around his shoulders. He embraces me, keeping me close as I
straddle him. His lips are slightly parted, an almost stupidly glazed
expression on his face.
I want him -- all of him -- right now.
I relax my thighs, letting myself sink down onto his jutting erection. Fires,
it _burns_ as he wedges me open, my body enveloping him inch by agonizing inch.
And that is why I finally and _sincerely_ moan with him, this flare of
intensely pleasurable pain enough to make me wonder if I've suddenly come back
to life in his arms.
No... _no_... I can't let him control me this way!
He grips my hips in strong hands, hammering up inside me hard enough to rattle
my teeth together. I clench them in self-defense, determined never to give in
to his will, and drive myself down to meet him. My cries mingle with his own,
only the curtains and the thundering music keeping the entire club from running
to watch us fuck. The spikes of my hair bounce with every violent thrust, my
nails tearing at his shoulders. The back of his shirt is probably shredded by
now, the skin under it not fairing much better, but he doesn't falter even the
slightest bit. Only the smallest unconscious whimper of pain trembles on his
lips, and I swallow it with a sudden, hard kiss. He tastes like alcohol and
musk, smoke and salt, metal clacking dully on metal in the duel of our tongues.
I can't help myself, cackling inwardly as I clench myself around his cock. The
reaction is instant and almost violent, the peacock tearing away from the kiss
as his face twists in a silent scream. Part of me is amused by the fact that he
looks like he's being eviscerated and enjoying it. I press my face hard into
the side of his neck to stifle my laughter, his pulse thudding away madly
against my lips.
The hunger... it calls to me....
Now I'm panting, the scent of musk and the coppery hints of hot blood running
just under his skin making my teeth ache. I feel my fangs extending in response
to the sweet call of it, the necessary addiction having become a welcome
feeling long ago. He pulls me closer still, every rocking stroke rubbing my
cock against his six-pack, his fingers and nails passionately abusing my ass
with their kneading and scratching.
It feels....
... so good....
My fangs feel like they're throbbing in time with his heart, the pulse of blood
through the hard, thrusting flesh inside me. He's hanging on the edge of
orgasm, I can smell it in his skin, and I want to feed at that very moment when
the blood is sweetest and hottest. I suck on his neck, already bruising his
pale flesh before I start rubbing the ball of my barbell into the vein. He
twitches within me, his eyes tightly clenched shut as his body riots out of his
control. The friction between us is inhuman. Somehow I fear it's not all an act
on my part as I ride him, dimly waiting to feel my heart flare back to life
after decades of still silence.
He will not win.
I curl my lips back, and the soft, studded caress of my tongue becomes the
sharp stab of my hunger. He jerks as if in seizure, his eyes flying open in
shock. I can't see his face, but I know his eyes are open because I can feel
his body like it was mine. I am in his mind as deep as I can go, feeding from
both body and soul. He arches mindlessly under me, writhing as I roll my hips
against him, taking him as deep as my undead flesh can. I purr as the first hot
splashes of his life spill down my throat, my fangs holding the wounds open.
He's paralyzed for a moment, nerves scrambled by the need to orgasm coupled by
sheer blind terror. His whimper is like music to me, his cocky facade utterly
shattered.
No addiction has ever held such power over me. Not heroin, not sex... nothing.
My own life paled in comparison with the one I'm stealing from him. I bite down
harder, feeling the dull snapping of muscle and tendons, the broken peacock
bucking hard one more time. I clench him inside me at the peak of his thrust,
wringing a strangled gasp from those trembling lips. His release feels like
scalding heat in the corpse-cold core of my body, though I can already feel the
flush of his blood warming me. That is my undoing, that long-lost warmth,
however fleeting it might be. This one will be no different from the others,
his fire fleeing quickly in the face of the unending darkness poisoning me.
He's already sagging to one side, one long arm draping over the edge of the
divan, his unblinking eyes clouding quickly.
I pull away from my feeding, watching one red pearl drip from my fangs to
splatter on his neck. He's gasping softly, his chest and throat barely moving
with each breath. Slower they come, the seconds stretching out between them,
and I taste the last of them as I savor that escaped drop on his neck. His pale
hair is so pretty, splayed around his head, stray locks draping over his face
to half-shield those empty eyes. His lips are already ever so faintly blue, his
cock rapidly going soft inside me. I lick my lips, shifting on his lap without
freeing myself.
The life lingering on my tongue... it's already fading, as bittersweet as dying
tears shed into the gutter, into the rain.
~Owari... almost....~
Author's Notes: Now, to bring it all to a close, Shattenjager.
Yes, I know it should have the weird German accents, but I'm lazy and I don't
know where they are in my keyboard. Oh well. It means "shadow
hunter," usually in reference to somebody who hunts the creatures of the
night. Not this time.
WARNING: This is even DARKER than Bittersweet.
Be prepared for gore instead of lemon this time, though there are strong sexual
references. Be warned, be ready, or go away. Flame me and you'll deal with the
two boys contained in said fic.
by Dark Ki
I come out of the shadows, the night wind turning corners around the buildings
to flutter my skirt and ruffle my hair. It reminds me of his hands, briefly
gentle on my head until desire took him and shook him like a rag doll. I left
him laying there on the divan, wrapped in darkness and velvet, cooling to the
touch. He was good, almost too good, and I'd wanted to keep him. No one else
had ever tasted so sweet. But he couldn't hold on. None of them ever can. Their
lust takes them and hands over their lives to me, and he was no exception.
Beautiful, but not invulnerable.
I catch the scent down the block, the hot scent that drives my every waking
moment. Another night's stolen blood is waning inside me, dying, succumbing to
the darkness festering under my skin and in my veins. Already I can feel my
body aching for air, but taking a breath will do nothing for me. It is the hunt
I must always engage in, the addiction I can never stop feeding. Every night is
the same.
Except one.
I will not think of him now.
For more than seventy years, I have danced this dance. One night, I roam the
streets, to keep my senses sharp. The next, I find my heart's desire in Cerise
Noir, relishing the familiar pleasure of seduction. The fast, swooping attacks
on the street are necessary, but I find myself looking forward to my time at
the club. There is no greater feeling, nothing closer to joy that I can feel.
The hot scent is closer now, my footfalls as silent as death. The prey is right
in front of me, three strides away, and he doesn't even know I'm there. I
lunge, fingers curled to grab, fangs bared.
In the half second it takes for me to reach him, I remember.
I remember my mother, the whore, the reason I loathe all females.
I remember the pain of being born, of living, of drawing breath while some
horrible craving ate me from within.
She wouldn't share her heroin with me. I only learned the taste of it in the
womb, an unwitting partner she shared with because she had to. I shook with the
need of it, every day, screaming and shedding mortal tears for the hunger
tearing me to pieces. She only gave it to me when I became too much of a
distraction to her johns, the fever-eyed little skeleton crying into the
unforgiving night. Even then, it was barely enough.
I remember learning how to get it the way she did. She had her johns in our
rundown little place. I took mine in the street, in the alleys and dark
corners, my back to the wall and the ground so far below my feet as they held
me there. I was so small back then. I still am. Small, but never innocent.
Then they stopped coming to me. The river of white snow that kept me on the
brink of sanity stopped flowing into my veins. I don't know why, I never
understood why I was suddenly undesirable. All I knew was the pain, forced into
giving it up without the consent of my body. It was an endless cycle of feeding
and withdrawal, enough to keep me from overdosing while I was still so young,
so not innocent.
I screamed until she hated me more than she did when I was born. She kept me
only because the body of an infant would raise suspicion. Jail would mean she'd
be separated from her precious, precious white snow. But my screaming and my
tears were too much even for the haze to drown out.
When she came to me, she was naked, tousled, her thighs dripping with semen not
from the man she'd been fucking when I started screaming. He'd likely gone soft
inside her, hearing my damned wail. Her thin, scar-pocked arm pushed my door
open. Her other hand held a knife.
When she came to me, I was fifteen.
For the first time, her hands were steady. The cut was clean.
She dragged me down the stairs by my hair, perhaps hoping that my head wouldn't
come off in her hand. She threw me into the street, into the rain, naked and
alone. The gutter washed my blood away with the trash and the grime. Even if I
could scream, no one would listen. But no one heard me as the breath rattled
from my throat in bubbles of red, never once passing my lips.
I remember my first kiss.
It was a razor against my lips, a soft tongue licking the blood from them
before he bit. He bit my lips, my nipples, caressing me lovingly as he sank his
teeth into my throat and his cold dick inside me. He taught me the ways of the
hunt then, before I'd even tasted him in return, drinking of my rapidly fading
life and the protest of my body as he fucked me. I watched the rain rush down
at me from the unforgiving sky, cradled in the arms of this hateful city, my eyes
stinging as the drops struck and burned. Then, slowly, the pain began to fade,
and I was numb. I was dying.
I remember not thinking as I dug deep and found some spark of hate strong
enough to move my frigid, leaden limbs. I found flesh and bit down, tearing
through skin like iron to the ice below. Darkness fountained between my teeth,
sliding down my throat in thick, bitter ribbons.
I remember he laughed against my throat and let me drink, using me as I used
him. It was the first time I ever came and felt pleasure from it.
The prey's scream is lost somewhere in my memories, but his rich, hot drug
flows over my tongue and everything is red, red, blinding red. I rock with him,
his head cradled against my arms as I drink. I hear another scream, this one female.
I hate it... such a piercing, high, _irritating_ sound. I didn't even see her,
I never see _them_. I only want the males with their vital energy and their
hard, resisting bodies. He's dying with a hard-on; I can feel it pressing
against me through my skirt even though he's _never_ wanted another male. My
bite is sweet sinful poison, and they all want me as they die. She's running
away... I can hear her stilettos beating a rapid tattoo on the pavement as she
flees. There's no one to watch him die, no one to see me finally pull away and
break his neck. There will be no second chance for him.
Nor for her. _He_ will see to that. I didn't break his neck when I finished
with him. I didn't want to snap that lovely column of flesh and vertebrae. Yes,
he only lays there and lets me use him in a pale imitation of the night we met,
but he is _there_.
And he is there in front of her now, crawling headfirst down a wall like a
perverse spider, a smudge of silver hair and gray skin and black clothes, his
milky white eyes staring blankly into hers.
She backpedals and turns to flee, and he pushes off the wall to tackle her. He
doesn't make a sound. She only manages a pathetic mewl as his weight presses
her into the street. Her clothes tear under his hands, and she chokes on a
scream, believing she's about to be raped.
He has no such appetites anymore.
All those sharp little teeth, like a demon dog. They're so good for tearing
flesh. I love watching him eat.
If only he wasn't so messy.
Perhaps they make bibs for zombies?
~Owari~