Diogenes was usually in bed at that hour. The moon was waning west against the black eternity that is space. He was standing on his balcony, inhaling the scent of the sea and gazing at the moon above, its glow interrupted by haze. Pulchra, thought Diogenes. Beautiful.
Light from a small harbor town across the way from the island Diogenes had claimed as a home flecked white and yellows to up above. Taking a final glance, Diogenes opened the door on his balcony and returned inside his mansion.
He stepped inside a sitting room which in the morning light was a warm brown with honeyed highlights. The room was one of grandeur. Just like every other room in the house. Diogenes crossed the room and went down a hallway until he came to his bedchamber. The final door.
With a careful grip he turned the shiny doorknob and let himself in. Through windows strategically built to suit the later half of the night, Diogene's bed was bathed in moonlight. His bed was large, with thick sheets and soft pillows. The color scheme composed of rich, dark reds that matched the dark wood frame. As he strolled over to the beds head, Diogenes carelessly brought his hand over a carved bedpost. The carving matched the headboard.
Diogenes began to undress for bed. The ginger haired man lazily undid the buttons on his jacket before placing the garment in a covered laundry basket in the rooms' corner. The morning was successful. Diogenes was feeling good.
Next he removed hit shirt. It was white. Not crème or eggshell, but white. Fair as his complexion. Fair as his complexion.
Bare breasted, Diogenes wafted to his large armoire dresser. It was ornately decorated and matched his bed. He opened it. Hanging inside were his jackets and finely pressed trousers. A few inches underneath were three drawers. It was the third draw he opened. It contained his pajamas. A random thought drifted through Diogenes head: he may need more space to add to his wardrobe at this particular residence.
He took out a pair of silk panamas. Black.
Diogenes removed his shoes and socks, trousers and underwear. He placed the socks, underwear and trousers in the hamper. His shoes were put primly with three other pairs inside the armoire.
The man with blue-hazel eyes laid on his bed. After a long day, the ability to rest was well welcome. It was a busy day, a good day. He closed his eyes. The grey world he saw melted to one of black. A welcome, self-imposed black. His thoughts wandered.
The plan, the marvelous plan was slowly being shaped. Years, decades. Maturing.
Diogenes inhaled deeply and released the breath with a smile. He was relaxed and, for the moment, careless. His thoughts wandered once more. He thought of the people he met, the people he used. The idea of his plan finally being put into active motion was exciting. It was arousing.
The woman. There was a woman. A perfect foil to an imperfectly perfect man. These thoughts sent a tingle down Diogenes spine.
He would be in agony. Broken, in pain, himself- the will to live, the will to continue on- gone. Diogenes licked his lips. The tingle in his spine began to migrate slowly to between his legs.
Inhalation. Deep inhalation. A frown.
The relish he felt morphed into arousal. His nether regions began to slowly swell and harder. Diogenes very rarely felt the steamy inclinations of intimate flesh, but tonight was a good day.
A smile returned to his face. He ran a hand through his red hair.
His hand worked its way down into his pajamas. His member was stiffened, almost completely. Diogenes took himself into his hand and began to stroke the shaft. Sliding the waistband of his pants down, Diogene's erection sprang free.
He wasted no time. He gripped his length and jerked up and down his shaft. The friction was a welcome sensation. He continued to think.
There he would be. Life in pieces, mind numb. Everyone he cared for- loved?- would be dead. He stroked harder.
The mental image of him with bloodshot eyes, greasy hair and a face permanently melted into a frown. A body in permanent disrepair. Diogenes gripped himself harder. A few drops of pre-cum were spread down the shaft.
He would be on his knees. On his knees in front of Diogenes. The location was unimportant. All that mattered was that he would be defeated and paying the ultimate price. Diogenes would laugh. He would not even deliver the sweet merciful gift of death. He'd hold him in a cage, a basement as a primitive beast. Diogenes began to moan.
The moon slowly migrated westward as Diogenes continued to jerk his erection. His strong palm felt good against his stiff flesh. He bit his lip. Without his own inclination, his hips bucked upward. His thoughts were tinted red with arousal and violence.
A sharp blade would cut him over one hundred times. Tiny cuts down the arms. The sweet life fluid would drip, drop down fair limbs only to pool and coagulate on the flood. Diogenes smiled wide. His eyes were still shut tight.
As he continued his thoughts became wilder. He would be hanged, revived. Electrocuted, revived. Nonfatal gunshot wounds, sewed up.
His cock was thick with hot energy. With curled toes and sweat on his brow, Diogenes grunted with every slide of palm. His plateau was rapidly approaching. Like the mad beast he was, he was losing control. Irrumabo! Irrumabo! Irrumabo mei!
His hips thrust up. With his thumb and forefinger he played with his swollen tip. The sensitive flesh responded well against his rough touch. His eyes would be dead, white with nothingness.
Diogenes gripped himself harder than ever and pumped his cock as fast as he could. Images of violence and blood flashed through his head, only encouraging his release. The climax was approaching. When his hand approached the tip he gave an extra flick of his wrist. It did not take long before Diogenes felt the fairly unfamiliar sensation.
His body contracted as his seed was expelled. Diogenes stopped, hand still on his member. For a moment he was silent and still.
He then opened his eyes and inhaled deeply. His semen was both on the bed and running down his hand and shaft. The redhead removed his hand from his softening member. With his clean hand, he reached into his end table and removed a handkerchief that was inside. He cleaned himself up and uncharacteristically tossed the cloth in the direction of the hamper. Adjusting his pants back to their proper position, he slipped under his covers, a grin on his face. Diogenes yawned, then inhaled deeply.