A/N Woke up wrote this and went to bed in a zombie-like daze. Too lazy to find a suitable cover.
Pairing: R27
Warnings: Dark themes, Sex (boyxboy).
Disclaimer: I don't own KHR.
It's their first time having sex. The room echoes with the slap of skin against skin, the heady moans and whimpers as certain spots are touched, the grunts that accompany each thrust and the screams that shake with pleasure and pain.
The first time is rough, all inhibitions are let go in a wild tumble to claim each other. No more what if's, shouldn'ts and mustn'ts. The desire has over powered all logical thought and moral constraints.
The second time is slower, full of soft brushes of skin against skin as they memorize the contours of each other's bodies. Tentative fingers brush against well defined abs to cause shivers down one spine and breaths of wonder in the other. Gun calloused hands rub against a bud teasingly and his reward is a soft whimper. Their lips brush each others in a sensual dance unlike the previous devouring.
It becomes love making to it finest degree yet that primal instinct is still there, lurking beneath each touch, each thrust. It is still there; that desire to claim what's theirs.
He used to hate the way the other walked, talked, anything really. It had come to a point that even the smallest gestures had him feeling those emotions he never wanted but wanted at the same time. The other was too kind hearted, who abhorred death and killing, yet he had accepted him; the very definition of Death in the underground world.
Even he wasn't sure when it had started. Perhaps it was when he's first laid eyes on the shy, timid, adorable boy. Or when he saw the trust he had gained over time. Either way it didn't matter, his smaller body had been consumed by repressed emotions that often leaked out in the form of physical abuse.
He hated the way the other people's eyes trailed over the other, the way the would linger on certain parts on the other's body; that tight arse, the chest that got more and more defined over time but stayed as slender as ever, those long fingers that waved about gracefully. And he would leap on top the other's head, if only to claim what was his.
When the curse broke it got worse, he had the capabilities to take the other, but there were too many shouldn'ts and couldn'ts and his own darned subconscious. The other walked the light and he had no desire to taint that.
Then he noticed the heated stares behind his back, the way the other's eyes lingered on him on his face, on his body. He wasn't sure when this started either; it could have been when he was still an infant or when the curse finally broke.
They had shared a tentative kiss, the other's first, and then told each other to forget about it.
And that got harder as time passed; the other's body grew into something mature but no less attractive. It became beautiful, handsome, those honey eyes could draw people in droves. And those hated stares became worse; it came from male and females alike, trailing over what his heart had long claimed as his.
But now he didn't care, he would take the other because the desire had become over powering, even for his will. It wasn't like the other was holding back anymore either. So they entered this dance of sin together and would never let the other go.
He is the one to take out the knife and feel the other still. He starts with a slight stab, just above the heart, and drags the sharp point down. They both watch the blood as it wells and trickles down the chest but before it lands on the sheets he is quick to lap it up.
And so he continues to carve.
He used to hate the other. The other became the definition of the devil; always causing him harm and pain. So he wasn't sure at all when it had started. When foreign emotions welled within him as he saw how the other never went too far, how the other actually cared for him, if in a slightly more sadistic and violent way than others.
He saw how the other always watched him, watched over him; like some dark rendition of a guardian angel. He hated the emotions sometimes and other times loved them as they wouldn't let him look anywhere else. Allowed him to be bold enough to go up and take that fedora off to brush his fingers through that black spiky and amazingly soft hair and take in the scent of espresso, mixed with something entirely unique.
When the curse broke he almost felt those emotions explode as he gazed into the unfathomable sharp dark gaze. But he repressed them, as much as he could. There were too many what ifs and mustn'ts that were in the way.
He learned to hate the way others gazes lingered on the other; trailing over that expensive suit that hinted at well defined muscles, over that face that could very well be the reincarnation of Adonis himself.
Then for one exhilarating moment they shared a kiss, but knew it couldn't, shouldn't, happen and so they forgot about it.
But it just became harder, he found those emotions leaking out as he leapt between a clingy woman and the other and dragged the other away on the basis they there was work to be done. And again between conversations where another man was gazing too admiringly upon the other. His heart betrayed him as his brain whispered why he mustn't why it was wrong.
His heart took over and all those emotions exploded as he found he didn't care anymore, all he wanted was the other; a deep primal desire that had started long ago.
He was the next to take the knife, letting that desire take over to steady his trembling hand as he started with the first stab; right over the heart. He drew the blade down slowly, feeling the other tense beneath his hand, and watched that crimson liquid well, licking it before it had a chance to fall.
He takes the knife out and starts the next stroke.
They have given in to that desire; sitting on the sweat covered sheets with the heady scent of sex in the air they carve that desire into each other:
Mine.
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