Spider Fingers
His fingers, pale white and thin, were like spiders. Creepy crawling creatures meandering about in the dark, silent and decisive on peach colored skin.
His fingers, holding onto a hand just a little smaller than his, was a spider grasping it's prey. And even now he was taking what he could from a willing body, spinning an invisible but very real web.
His fingers, bittersweet and soft, ate Kira up in the silence of that room. Prodding just so for a reaction. Stroking and creeping and fluttering, like a spider scuttling over the floor.
His fingers, cold, whispering along to poke at Kira's weaknesses. Moving along to get in between the cracks and tear them open. Skimming along to find his insecurities and make them bigger by smoothing over the previous hurt.
His fingers were like spiders. White ruthless spiders. Finding places inside of him that turned him into putty. Clay being shaped too thin and weak by fingers, spider fingers that knew exactly what they were doing.
"You're like a butterfly, Izuru."
His fingers, gentle one moment and rough the next, traced spider webs over and inside his flesh, threading him with need and addiction. Every breath was painful rapture, every movement cool fire.
His fingers, some what beautiful, were evil. Touching perfectly, fooling Kira into affection, adoration, love, obsession. To the point that he cried wretchedly, mind frayed and held together by spider webs. Evil.
His fingers, making habits of everything, touching everywhere. Like kisses too soft, feather light, torturing. It was cruel. Destroying the night along with his mind until Kira burned with shame and desire. The two mixed and pooled in his stomach, making him sick.
His fingers, like solidified moonlight, made his world distort into colors. Yet he couldn't get any closer. The temptation that felt like moonlight at the tips of those spider fingers was maddening to the point that he could do nothing but grip tight. The moon, meanwhile, watched on with silent laughter.
His fingers were like spiders. Creeping and ripping and eating at him until he knew nothing, saw nothing, focused only on spiders over peaches. The spider webs tugged, and he could no longer grasp the reality that 'this was dangerous, maybe he shouldn't–?'
"What a nice sound you made, Izuru. Let me hear it again."
His spider fingers, driving him to the brink of something he'd felt many times before but never understood, were cool and comforting. An anchor inside a sea of senseless words and actions that fell apart in his hands and slipped through.
His spider fingers, delving into the cracks with glee, and pulling out the butterflies. They were crushed with a thin smile thrown his way. And then the feasting continued.
Owari