All copywritten characters are the sole property of their holders and no infringement is intended; no money is being made. "Because I do not hope to turn again..." is the first line in T.S. Eliot's poem "Ash Wednesday." Don't sue.
"Give it to me…" the dark figure moaned in his ear with a filthy growl.
"No… stop it…!"
A shuddering breath blew fast into the well-abused lobe and pleasure; fire danced both in front of and behind the naked, sweating slayer. Kohaku could feel himself trying to crawl away across the mildewed tatami; away from his fate.
The wall and its door; its endless miles (endless smiles) of distant escape glowed and raged with fire Naraku had lit to set the world ablaze. Time to confess his sins, Kohaku's mind squirmed and gibbered against the still marble of the patricide within him. The time had come to fight and earn redemption, a cloistered rabbit on the run – or stay…fuck, bleed and die.
Because I do not hope to turn again
Naraku covered him, his large slick body bore Kohaku down against the floor, splayed like a toad, pushing his legs wide, lifting him, and spearing him with shameless filth and depravity…grunting, groaning, laughing, moaning…
Kohaku wasn't concerned in the least about the cock slipping, scraping in and out of his bony ass; he'd been though – he'd been – worse.
The bastard was after his shard; his virginity was nothing without his borrowed time. What was his life but fear in a handful of dust?
Because I do not hope
Struggling in vain looked too much like thrust meeting thrust. Flames licked closer to them both. Brown sad eyes slashed his heart with sudden echo – Kohaku shuddered when the Beast's hand pulled his head up to watch the end of life crinkle and writhe. Regrets were timeless – and both thoughts lost all meaning when the sweating, naked slayer felt sharp fingers scrabbling – harder
Clawing – faster
Flaying open his shoulder. Pain is less than nothing when numbed by fear of Judgment.
Because I do not hope to turn
Confessions were too late as the piece of pink glass was plucked carefully from its bloody nest. Flames in his dimming eyes were the last things to be seen… blurring heavy tongues of flame… bonfires… sunsets… glory…
For Thine is the Kingdom