AN: Hello. Nope, still not dead. Still haven't given up on this, either. This chapter has taken me a long time to write, but here it is! Enjoy! I think Chapter 14 may be the last chapter, too!
Nephamael turned his eyes upon his own reflection, reaching out long, white fingers to stroke the bitterly cold surface and allowing a pang of emotion to pierce him like frigid iron. Nicnevin was dead, and he was only beginning to truly feel the effects of her absence, like the ghost of a limb that had been lost. Or perhaps a limb that had been willingly severed, but the phantom ached more than expected. Perhaps he had not been the very instrument that had been used to cut, but had wielded the blade all the same.
He had expected to feel nothing, to remain as smooth and cold as the glass in the mirror, but Nicnevin, even in her death, just had to be sharp enough to cut him. In fact, glass described her very well. She had been both delicate and razor-sharp, hard and tough and paper-thin all at once. She could make him bleed, like shards of broken glass, sharp as her bones.
Now her bones were actually bare--perhaps he could find them and use them as weapons, if they had not been consumed. It was even romantic, in a twisted sort of way. Poetic, almost.
After another empty, glassy moment, he tore himself away from the icy-smooth shine to revel in the glorious heat and frenzy of yet another revel. He swept out into the fierce cool of the autumn night, allowing the moonlight to illuminate his marble texture of his skin and the graceful curves of his bones, allowed the night to embrace him.
Corny shivered, still haunted by the feel of the faery king's soft touch and the tender bruise forming on his face from the blow. He had been asking for it, really. Literally. The masochist in him had finally been unleashed, it seemed. Nephamael had thrown back his head and laughed, baring both his perfect throat and vampiric teeth. Now cold metal shackles bit into Corny's wrists, and he could feel it all, hypersensitive from Nephamael's treatment
And speak of the devil--he stumbled in, far more intoxicated than he would have admitted, and his poor pet had been without food for some time. Such a pity that they nearly always died of neglect.
"Oh, poor thing, did I leave you here too long?" He collapsed onto his bed, ignoring Corny completely, and arched his back so hard that the bones cracked loudly--invitingly, to Corny's ears. He wanted to contort that slender, flexible body. "I'm far too exhausted for you, tonight," he sighed, "after what I let all the pretty ones do to me."
"Oh, come on, just let me sleep with you, please..." He needed the warmth. A few hours ago, Nephamael hardly struck him as cuddly, but now he would fall asleep instantly with that body next to his.
"Maybe," Nephamael sniffed, feigning indecision. After a somewhat lengthy stretch of silence, Corny realized that Nephamael had actually curled up and gone to sleep. Damn faery.
"Nephamael! Please...please let me down from here!"
Nephamael opened one eye, not even bothering to open the filmy, catlike inner lid. "Let me sleep, boy."
"I won't," Corny insisted, "Not until you let me go."
"Let you go? I thought all you wanted was to be with me, never leave this place." Nephamael sat up now, fixing Corny with his piercing stare.
"Just let me out of the fucking chains, asshole," Corny growled, voice cracking. Despite his defensive attitude, his emotions raged in a storm of conflict: On the one hand, he loved Nephamael's extreme unpredictability, his tendency to go from a stroking to a beating in mere seconds. On the other, he simply wanted to go back to that dull, faded, trailer-trash life, if it meant some food and time alone. Time to recover from Nephamael. For recovery was quite necessary after an experience with Nephamael.
But Nephamael didn't look so fearsome anymore. In fact, he appeared rather calm. Corny felt anticipation leap into his throat as Nephamael approached, sauntering with those long, beautiful legs.
"Promise you won't demand too much of me," he purred into Corny's ear, caressing his wrist near the shackles with a slender finger. Corny melted, causing the chains to clink as they sagged under his weight.
Nephamael smirked as he carefully unfastened the chains around Corny"s wrists and enveloped the shaken boy into his arms. Corny shuddered and clung to Nephamael's warm body, grateful for the contact. In a bizarre, curious moment, he wondered what faery blood tasted like--surely not metallic, like human blood. No iron. Maybe, he thought, it tasted sweet as the bloodlike juice of those silver apples.
Corny flinched in surprise as he felt the wet, slippery sensation of Nephamael's tongue sliding against his temple. This brought a low, silky laugh from the faery, not allowing Corny to solidify completely. Once again, with recovery.
Nephamael carried Corny to the bed and set the boy on it gently, settling into the bed with him. He didn't protest as Corny hesitantly curled against him and soon dropped into sleep.