Darksome Devouring - Part 3

"What are you?"

The Corinthian laughed, releasing Muraki's wrists and giving him a shove in the back of the shoulder which knocked him to his knees.

"What am I?" He took a handful of silvery hair, forcing Muraki to turn and face him.

He wore dark sunglasses, but that didn't make it any easier, knowing what was behind them. Each eye socket was empty and lined with jagged teeth. And behind those not muscle and meat and bone, but deep black wells. Endless and dark and hungry...

Muraki had seen them in his dream, but he knew they were real, and he knew what they were for.

"What am I, Kazutaka?" The Corinthian asked quietly. He twisted the knife in his right hand, making it dance around his fingers. Muraki glanced at the weapon, but he knew how fast it could be moved and he kept still.

"A demon. You're a demon."

"That's very clever of you." The Corinthian grinned, dragging the edge of the knife gently over Muraki's cheek. "But wrong."

He traced his lips with the tip of the blade. "Stop trembling. You don't want my hand to slip, do you?"

Muraki closed his eyes, and The Corinthian paused, the knife resting in the little hollow beneath his lower lip. "I'm just a murderer, Kazutaka. I'm no different from you."

"I'm not a murderer."

"Of course you aren't yet." The Corinthian lowered his free hand to rest over Muraki's heart. "But soon. All that potential… can't you feel it?"

Muraki opened one eye, the corner of his lips twitched. "You're insane."

"Oh?" The Corinthian drew his arm back and struck him backhanded across the face. He pulled the slap, but Muraki's head snapped to the side. "And here I thought I was doing you a favor."

"Why did I dream about you?" Muraki demanded, tasting blood on his lips when he spoke. He didn't turn to face him though, because he was afraid that if he did it would only be to meet a gaze lined with fangs. "You're not human."

"But I am. I'm more human than most people will ever be able to imagine. Pure, concentrated human impulse."

He slipped a hand under Muraki's jaw, turning him back gently. "You're bleeding. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Blood tricked from the corner of Muraki's mouth, where he had been struck. With a cold smile tugging at his lips, The Corinthian leaned closer. His tongue flicked out like a snake's, following the trail of blood from the point of Muraki's chin, to his mouth.

"Stop it..." He tasted The Corinthian's breath, metallic and crimson on his parted lips. Muraki tried to draw away, but the wall was at his back, a row of shelves beside him, leaving him nowhere to escape to.

"Kazutaka..." The Corinthian chuckled dryly. "You don't actually think I'm going to kill you, do you? My boy, you have a calling. You're the stuff nightmares are made of."

"What are you talking about?" Muraki shook his head fiercely, to drive away the stab of recollection he had felt at those words. They tugged at something inside of him, like a familiar voice calling to him on a crowded street. "I haven't killed anyone. That-"

His hands curled into fists against the floor. "I am not my brother. I'm not like him."

"Cute little Saki, you mean?" Muraki's eyes narrowed at the mention of that name, and The Corinthian laughed, reaching out to set a hand lightly against the side of his face. "No, you're not like him, and thank goodness for that. He was so predictable; there was no art in what he did."

"He murdered them..." Muraki's voice sounded more desperate than it had a moment ago, when he had been facing The Corinthian's knife.

"Yes, I know he did. And you're the only one who still cares."

"No..."

"Yes." The Corinthian smiled, and he might have meant to be reassuring, even in spite of the sharp teeth. "You're the one who's going to be remembered. You're the one who's going to keep them awake at night, just to drive the bad dreams away."

Muraki dug his heels into the floor, pushing his back up against the wall. "Don't. I…"

He swallowed hard, lifting a shaking hand to his lips. "I'm going to be sick."

"Poor thing. The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

The Corinthian shifted his weight forward, straddling Muraki's thighs with his knees. He pushed a few locks of hair from the boy's face. "I want you to calm down now," he said quietly. "Breathe. That's good. Take a deep breath."

And he did. Slowly, the pounding of his heart quieted in his ears. The black edges faded from his vision.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" Muraki whispered, as soon as he was sure he could speak.

"Certainly not. You have your whole life ahead of you."

Smiling, The Corinthian reached for his sunglasses, and as he begin to tug them off, Muraki found himself unable to look away. Unable to move. "We're just going to have a little fun."

Muraki knew as soon as he looked at The Corinthian's uncovered face that any chance he might have had to escape was gone. "Don't..."

"Don't?" The Corinthian laughed from all three mouths, and he was close enough that Muraki felt the humid spill of his breath against his face. "Don't what?"

Muraki tried to turn away, but The Corinthian's hand closed around his jaw, holding him still so he had no choice but to face the darkness behind his gaze.

"Don't... hurt me," Muraki whispered.

"Oh, Kazutaka." The Corinthian lifted his knife, and it was pale against the shadows that fell between them. He held the blade gently to Muraki's throat, and twisted it, cutting the top button from his shirt. "I think it's a little late for theatrics, don't you?"

Before Muraki could answer, there was a mouth on his. Hot and demanding, slick and silky and sweet. He had never been kissed like that before, and his lips parted a little beneath it. The Corinthian's blade danced down his shirtfront and the buttons fell one by one, the fabric parting over his chest. He had only a moment to feel the sting of cold air, and then hands raked up his ribs. The Corinthian had palms worn rough by the hilt of a knife, and long delicate fingers. He trailed his hands down Muraki's chest, tracing the grooves between muscles, pausing a moment over his heart to feel its staccato rhythm.

The Corinthian slid his hands back up to Muraki's shoulders, easing his shirt off. He twisted the fabric around Muraki's forearms, binding his hands behind his back.

Muraki gasped, jerking against the bonds as if awakening from a dream. They weren't tight, but they were clever enough. They would hold for now.

The Corinthian touched his cheek lightly, drawing Muraki back to face him. "Scream," he purred, and one hand dipped low, flicking open his belt, drawing the leather across his palm as he pulled it free.

"Not a fucking chance."

The Corinthian tossed the belt aside. "You'll change your mind."

He closed a hand around Muraki's throat, pushing him back against the wall, and he lifted his knife for the younger man to see. "You have very beautiful eyes, Kazutaka. I wonder, has anyone ever told you that before?"

"You said you weren't going to kill me. I hate liars." Muraki made himself sound brave, but his gaze never left the weapon, his hands never stopped shaking.

"I didn't lie. I have far too much respect for you to lie." It was nearly dark now, and the blade of the knife was a ribbon of white. "But I did come all this way to find you, and I'm starved."

The Corinthian flashed him a reckless grin. And slowly, the knife came down.