WARNING: angst, incest, perversions, blasphemy CATEGORY: slash, angst, SUMMARY: so tell me, scum, what's your desire, when god is gone and blood rains down? Jeff's POV NOTES: I really tried a new pairing this time..., really...
so tell me, scum, what's your desire, when god is gone and blood rains down?
are you feeling lonesome tonight, is somebody waiting
is somebody waiting for you in the sore?
You are crawling back to me with eyes full of horror. Colourful bruises are dark grey in the night and your tears left salty trails on your skin. I can feel the tiny crystals, can taste them on my tongue. You smell of another man, I know this scent well.
A trembling hand holds your shirt closed. Just one single black button hangs from frayed threads like a silent accuse. I pry your cramped fingers out of the fabric, it's like digging roots out of dry caked soil, your joints sound wooden, too.
Your shirt falls open, reveals thin dark lines, not deep enough to scar visibly, but deep enough to burn. Blood is almost black in the moonlight. I don't ask you, where you have been, because I know the answer. Taking your hands in mine, studying them intently, massaging the soreness out of them, I recognise I long blond hair trapped under a fingernail.
I pick it out, hold it up to the sliver of light coming from the mangled blinds, watching you shiver and squirm on your knees on the floor, trapped between my legs.
Leaning down from my position above you, I cradle your grateful skull in my gentle hands and place a kiss on the top of your head. You are whimpering, agonised, because you know, that this is everything I can give to you, my body will always be sacrosanct for you. Untouchable. Close, but distant.
I push the shirt from your shoulders, leaving your arms trapped in the sleeves and make you lean down with a simple lingering touch on the back of your neck. With your cheek pressed against the rough carpet, you display your back to me, so vulnerable and trusting.
More lines, caked with this almost black.
So beautiful. I'm over you like a light summer breeze, pretending to touch you, but not making contact to your skin at all, just watching, watching those lines move and shiver with you, becoming a part of your form.
My nails, shiny and black, follow the graphic, follow the message he sent me through you. I pry open the enveloping dark red, looking beneath it, look for his words and thoughts carved into you.
My mouth falls open, slack and my eyes briefly roll back as the coppery scent grows stronger and I can see it so clearly:
His large and steady hands, as golden as his hair, pressing the blade into the blank canvas you are, giving you a meaning, when you hold your breath and try your best not to squirm away from the pain, away from the intimacy.
He cuts you lose from all your faults, all your obligations, all your flaws, all your defences, until you are just this shivering, cowering thing, raw and honest, just yourself.
In his eyes there is no compassion for you, he knows, that he is superior, that next to him, you are just a little boy, because his confidence is real, his eloquence is perfect and he plays all the people around him like puppets.
Once he took away everything, that was dear to you, but since then he shows you night after night, what you are. Just a maggot on a plate. Just scum.
I briefly taste your pain, your humiliation, dark red smeared upon my face. Your whole body is tensed with longing, with gratefulness, because I'm your god and I do listen to your prayers. You have made me like this, worshipping me on your knees, but never ever touching me, afraid to break me, afraid to soil me with your filthy desires.
I open my pants and begin to stroke myself, closing my eyes to run away, away to my very first and best sexual fantasy ever, while I write my own message blindly on your back with two unsteady fingertips.
I stare unblinkingly through the tiny slit between door and door frame, feeling a cool breeze on my eyeballs, but burning up behind my face.
You are facing me, bent over the table, your knuckles turning white from the iron grip you have on the edge, bare arms and torso touching the smooth wooden surface, you are staring down on the blurred reflection of yourself.
I don't hear a sound, I don't see the leather belt fall upon your flesh, even though I know, it must be there. Angry red welts appear out of nowhere, marring your perfect skin, but never breaking it. All I can see is you, arching your back, curling instinctively away, biting your full lower lip until one perfect droplet of blood appears, that I want to devour so desperately.
My hands slide clumsily over the growing bulge on the front of my pants, it's starting to hurt.
Then you are rising into a standing position, your face blank, but there is a storm in your dark eyes.
Your punishment is over and I quickly run away towards my room.
Late at night you come to me like you always did since dad told you, that you were to old to share my bed. So you patiently wait for him to go to bed and cross on tiptoes the distance between us.
You lie down on your front next to me and I can't take my eyes off the message of my father on your back. Then I recognise, that I don't care at all, about who sent it, just the expression of you, telling me about it is important. Even his words don't matter. It's all about you. My hand curls lightly around the back of your neck, keeping you in place with no force at all, as I wriggle out of my shorts. I listen to your gasp of surprise and I wait for you to fight me, but you just lie there, watching me with one wide eye over your shoulder.
I straddle you're the back of your thighs, drag your shorts down, exposing the perfect shape of ass, feel powerful muscles tense, but they decide not to dislodge me and you are accepting me over you.
Leaning on my elbows I press my lips to those lines on your skin, feeling you shiver as my leaking cock slides over the cleft of your ass and then settles between your cheeks.
I taste your whimpers, your pain and your guilt, find shame and embarrassment in your sweat and I come with a groan as the tip of my cock brushes over your virgin entrance.
My tattooed hand is tangled in your hair, my thumb holding your mouth open as I give your Holy Communion to you. I watch your tongue desperately lapping up my juices, that gone astray on your cheeks and chin.
My other hand squirms inside the back of your pants, a single fingertip searching and finding this small and virgin place, that is just mine to touch and I will never penetrate it, savouring it, showing my gratefulness for your sacrifice.
My left foot pushes against your chest, forcing you to lay on your back on the floor. I grab your ankles pull your pants down, tossing them carelessly away. Then I spread your legs as wide as they can go, placing your feet against the edge of the bed I'm sitting on and watch you masturbate with burning eyes, one of your hands stroking your cock, the other teasing the insides of your thighs, close to the one place, that is just mine.
I watch you arch and squirm, listen to your broken moans and read the message again.
For him you are just scum, he doesn't know, how much I depend on you, your trust is the only line I can cling to, when the abyss of my mind threatens to swallow me whole.