Heaven's Poisonous Orchestra
Title: Heaven's Poisonous Orchestra
Rating: NC-17 (Not suitable for the easily disturbed)
Word Count: 2112
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Summary: I wrote this a year ago, but was too scared to post it. Now it's here, and I've managed to make it worse than it was a year ago. So somehow enjoy whatever is here. Also, big woops! to whoever guesses the actual theme going on here(like it's not obvious enough lol).
P.S. I'm also not responsible for anyone who gets disturbed by this.
Cellos and violins pour into the atmosphere all so candidly. Threading through the red wine and milky smirks, wishing upon a ceiling full of stars and dreams, helping exactly what a desire can drive out of a person; hunt their prey behind a silhouette of a soundtrack.
It’s not as simple as it looks, three words-no, it’s much more adventurous. There’s timing, mastering the skills, knowing wholeheartedly what you want and how you’re gonna get it. If it’s not racing in your veins, triggering headaches, burning skin, suffocating, killing you...then you might as well call it quits and let it dry along the shore. Sergio’s had it all and more, and not once has he ever given a single thought of giving up. He’s been tossed about in the sky for months and it’s never stopped, nor has he want it to. His heart is too full of sweet flesh; that being a certain tantalizing radiance scattering across his sanity; a devilish man.
He’s one of those guys you wouldn’t notice until you wanted to, going on and living life as they ought to like everybody else--but obviously, there’s a vivid difference about them than others. For Sergio, it was the simple things that caught him in a web; milk chocolate eyes, polka-dots dusted across placid-like skin, and pale honey locks forever tucked behind creamy ears--but what drove him into a catastrophic venture from the beginning was witnessing something much deeper than those features, something that probably no one else would have seen out of the man and just Sergio, by fate, had happened to get a front-row seat.
There, in the middle of the heart-thumping city of Madrid, one unknowingly special midnight, Sergio hardly remembers anything else but that man; a heavy socked look so deadly and so frightening that it sent chills throughout Sergio’s bones once his eyes were caught in it. His soul has never processed being able to see pure venom swimming in an eye’s iris under moonlight, from one man alone.
In the pouring light from the parted dark sky he could see the man’s tight grip on the top of an impeccable black car door, veins thickening in his wet arm while the other hand held a heavy silver pistol glistening by the shower that left minutes ago. Before Sergio could become any more dumbfounded than he already was, standing there with a bag of his dinner gradually slipping his fingers, his eyes fell upon a body laid out on an alley’s pavement, motionless and wet. Sergio couldn’t tell from where he was standing to know if the body bled or not, but he knew for sure that whoever it was were dead. He couldn’t tell then how the man was looking down at it, what expression his face painted, but just his gesture of gingerly wiping the side of his pistol against his coat was enough to know that his expression couldn’t have been nothing more than soulless. It bounced off his presences and something inside of Sergio’s gut was screaming for him to run, but he couldn’t.
Sergio had watched him like a statue, des[ite what was going on inside of him, in front of him. Explosions going off from the dead person being left to rot, others from the man who was slowly turning his head at him, placing those cold-blooded eyes onto him in a way that is forever burned into Sergio’s head; demon eyes.
Sergio still doesn’t know if the man would have done anything if he had stayed longer. If he had continued to drain himself into the core of the man’s eyes, or at the spec of blood aside his mouth, to only have that be his last taste of life. He doesn’t want to know, for he believes running away until he had nearly clashed against his apartment door was the brightest solution out of that situation. Other than that, though, he still wonders if calling somebody would have also been the brightest. But his head was too stuffed with clouds, developing clouds structuring lightening and fierce winds, erasing any rational thought. And yet after it all, he still couldn’t call them. He still couldn’t acknowledge what happened. Every dream was turning into those man’s eyes, eating and working and walking and talking--his eyes would follow along the walls.
Then he gave in. Then he knew.
It’s all he wants, and what he believes he needs.
Never did Sergio think he was going to find him in such a random bar, originally going there to wash off the man’s traces all over his skin for the countless time this month, even if it meant temporarily.
Never did Sergio think it was going to take a walk through a crowd, two shots, and two tables over to confront him.
Somehow, the orchestra came alive more than ever.
“I’ll buy you the next.”
The man gazes at him softly from his seat. His face doesn’t reveal anything, not a soul(--as if he had one), and Sergio drinks in the psychedelic sight. Letting his eyes darken in pure lust for him while he invades his space, shortening their distance to at least 6 inches apart. He doesn’t know what his actions will result into, and he doesn’t care. The scent of the man’s cologne and whiskey is acutely perfect, arousing every button Sergio has. And the lack of the man’s blond locks, replaced by a fitting (almost ironically burgundy) buzz cut. He feels as if there’s nothing he can’t do at this moment.
“Why is that?” The man is teasing, it’s there in his voice, it’s fucking lovely. He’s letting it be aware that he knows the jest of what Sergio is up to, who he is and what he wants and needs and Sergio let’s himself shiver, let’s the man witness what he can cause with his voice alone by the dull bumps scattering on Sergio’s forearm. The man even smiles a little, releases adoring creases aside of it, and teases more. “Aren’t I dangerous?”
It becomes clearer of their first encounter, and Sergio almost wants to chuckle. Wants to toss the glass out of the man’s hand and drag him somewhere deep and endless and naughty and show him that danger is just what he is looking for. “I haven’t seen it all.” He teases back because he can, little to what the man was expecting.
His smile lightens as he notices the confidence in Sergio. As if (now)three inches apart and a knee cocked between his legs wasn’t enough. He looks as if he’s selecting a choice. Either to satisfy Sergio’s desires or destroy him in an alley like he did with the other.
“I don’t think you want to see it all.” His tone is low, loose, but all so serious.
Sergio, in return, makes his agree but even hungrier. “I think I do.”
He knows what he wants, because that’s the kind of being he is.
He was designed for this.
--
“Is this your gun I’m feeling,” Sergio breathes, nearly groans, into- “Fernando?” Fernando’s ear. He hasn’t stopped molesting him since they’ve been in his dark apartment. He feels he hasn’t touched him enough yet, and his hands are scanning every inch of him through his tough designer clothing, not registering that he must remove it to get to those abs, those hips, that ass.
Fernando doesn’t utter a sound back than breathe even harder against Sergio’s neck, letting him tease his throbbing member as if he owns it already. And that alone has Sergio feeling out of control with himself.
He strips him down. Removing his belt, his pants, his underwear, and his shirt so that the only thing Fernando has left to do is remove his own shoes.
Sergio pushes him even harder against the wall with his body, digging his nails into Fernando’s thighs and grinding his hips into his. And even with all that, not even a moan escapes Fernando. He’s almost as silent as a mouse, and quickly, this pisses Sergio off. Because what was the point of this if he can’t hear him?
If he can’t break him into two?
He doesn’t think twice about wrapping Fernando’s legs around his waist and carrying him to the sofa despite all his weight. He drops him down enough to make him flop onto the cushions without giving him a second to breathe before his cock and tons of precum is pushing into him, because he thought he could get him as vulnerable as he was that first night he saw him. He thought he actually had the power to break apart a demon, but Fernando was no joke. The only thing that changed was his expression when he felt his dick, his brows creased together for a second until they were instantly separated again, leaving his face as it were before; wanton.
Sergio didn’t want that, despite how easily it had him so close to cumming all over this event. He wanted him in pain, in fear, and unexpected of the being that Sergio possess within himself. The man that would love to have a frighten demon as dinner.
Sergio thrusted all of his anger into him, hard enough to make the sofa creak and scratch along the wooden floor. Fernando would lean his head back against the armrest, eyes closed and lips nearly smiling through his merciless fucking. He was winning and he loved every bit of it, but Sergio wanted to erase that completely.
He pulled out, and for once, Fernando showed a hint of surprise on his sweaty, delicious face.
Without an answer for his sudden case, Sergio gets up and walks languidly over to their clothes near the door. He searches through it on his knees for a few minutes before standing back up with something that has Fernando giving him that same deathly look from nights ago.
Sergio’s got his pistol. His thick silver gun that truly makes it and Sergio’s moist body sparkle in the moonlight from the livingroom window.
Fernando’s glare follows him all the way to the sofa as he climbs over him again, the pistol in tow as Sergio taps it against Fernando’s own cheek while he smirks. Knowing exactly what Fernando would love to do to him at that very moment. Sergio loves it.
“I know what you need.” He tells him casually, and Fernando doesn’t sound as ease as him when he responds.
“You don’t know shit of what I fucking need.”
“..Hey, Hey, now.” Sergio murmurs, teases with a small pout and his finger resting upon Fernando’s cold lips. “I thought this was a game that we could both play.”
Fernando snorts. “Did you actually think anybody could play against someone like me?” And he snorts again, nearly laughs before Sergio’s smile cuts him off, has his face shutting down in fear.
“I’m not just anybody.”
Fernando accidently lets out a gasp as he feels something cold slither down his thigh, and before he can think about what it is, Sergio has his hands locked together and against the armrest. He breathes near Fernando’s ear once again before that coldness becomes Fernando’s last taste of anything.
“I know what you need.” he says before shoving the cold head of the silver pistol inside of him, making Fernando’s body finally quake under him. His eyes squeeze shut and he manages to bite open his bottom lip, but it doesn’t stop the uncontrollable moans and shivers that escape him. His hips tightening and jumping with each quick thrust Sergio makes with the gun, his legs tremble as they wrap themselves tightly around Sergio’s waist, and Sergio smiles at all the sounds he makes, the suddenly scorching gun going in and out of him, and the sight of his cock pouring precum all over his stomach. He smiles at the victory of all of it, of taming this demon with his own fucking destructible pistol from months of watching and yearning for it. Fernando’s sobs echo throughout his home, his face painting the perfect portrait of success(pain), but his locked wrists don’t show a fight in them.
“Why are you crying?” He asks at one point, when Fernando opens his eyes, the previous blackness replaced with innocent-like chocolate, and tears immediately free themselves down his redden cheeks.
Fernando doesn’t answer, maybe if his whimpers count, but he can’t answer, because the fright has got a hold of his throat, his being.
Because someone, and not just anybody, managed to shove the fear of light inside of him; an Angel tearing him apart with his own bullets.
--
Rating: NC-17 (Not suitable for the easily disturbed)
Word Count: 2112
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Summary: I wrote this a year ago, but was too scared to post it. Now it's here, and I've managed to make it worse than it was a year ago. So somehow enjoy whatever is here. Also, big woops! to whoever guesses the actual theme going on here(like it's not obvious enough lol).
P.S. I'm also not responsible for anyone who gets disturbed by this.
Cellos and violins pour into the atmosphere all so candidly. Threading through the red wine and milky smirks, wishing upon a ceiling full of stars and dreams, helping exactly what a desire can drive out of a person; hunt their prey behind a silhouette of a soundtrack.
It’s not as simple as it looks, three words-no, it’s much more adventurous. There’s timing, mastering the skills, knowing wholeheartedly what you want and how you’re gonna get it. If it’s not racing in your veins, triggering headaches, burning skin, suffocating, killing you...then you might as well call it quits and let it dry along the shore. Sergio’s had it all and more, and not once has he ever given a single thought of giving up. He’s been tossed about in the sky for months and it’s never stopped, nor has he want it to. His heart is too full of sweet flesh; that being a certain tantalizing radiance scattering across his sanity; a devilish man.
He’s one of those guys you wouldn’t notice until you wanted to, going on and living life as they ought to like everybody else--but obviously, there’s a vivid difference about them than others. For Sergio, it was the simple things that caught him in a web; milk chocolate eyes, polka-dots dusted across placid-like skin, and pale honey locks forever tucked behind creamy ears--but what drove him into a catastrophic venture from the beginning was witnessing something much deeper than those features, something that probably no one else would have seen out of the man and just Sergio, by fate, had happened to get a front-row seat.
There, in the middle of the heart-thumping city of Madrid, one unknowingly special midnight, Sergio hardly remembers anything else but that man; a heavy socked look so deadly and so frightening that it sent chills throughout Sergio’s bones once his eyes were caught in it. His soul has never processed being able to see pure venom swimming in an eye’s iris under moonlight, from one man alone.
In the pouring light from the parted dark sky he could see the man’s tight grip on the top of an impeccable black car door, veins thickening in his wet arm while the other hand held a heavy silver pistol glistening by the shower that left minutes ago. Before Sergio could become any more dumbfounded than he already was, standing there with a bag of his dinner gradually slipping his fingers, his eyes fell upon a body laid out on an alley’s pavement, motionless and wet. Sergio couldn’t tell from where he was standing to know if the body bled or not, but he knew for sure that whoever it was were dead. He couldn’t tell then how the man was looking down at it, what expression his face painted, but just his gesture of gingerly wiping the side of his pistol against his coat was enough to know that his expression couldn’t have been nothing more than soulless. It bounced off his presences and something inside of Sergio’s gut was screaming for him to run, but he couldn’t.
Sergio had watched him like a statue, des[ite what was going on inside of him, in front of him. Explosions going off from the dead person being left to rot, others from the man who was slowly turning his head at him, placing those cold-blooded eyes onto him in a way that is forever burned into Sergio’s head; demon eyes.
Sergio still doesn’t know if the man would have done anything if he had stayed longer. If he had continued to drain himself into the core of the man’s eyes, or at the spec of blood aside his mouth, to only have that be his last taste of life. He doesn’t want to know, for he believes running away until he had nearly clashed against his apartment door was the brightest solution out of that situation. Other than that, though, he still wonders if calling somebody would have also been the brightest. But his head was too stuffed with clouds, developing clouds structuring lightening and fierce winds, erasing any rational thought. And yet after it all, he still couldn’t call them. He still couldn’t acknowledge what happened. Every dream was turning into those man’s eyes, eating and working and walking and talking--his eyes would follow along the walls.
Then he gave in. Then he knew.
It’s all he wants, and what he believes he needs.
Never did Sergio think he was going to find him in such a random bar, originally going there to wash off the man’s traces all over his skin for the countless time this month, even if it meant temporarily.
Never did Sergio think it was going to take a walk through a crowd, two shots, and two tables over to confront him.
Somehow, the orchestra came alive more than ever.
“I’ll buy you the next.”
The man gazes at him softly from his seat. His face doesn’t reveal anything, not a soul(--as if he had one), and Sergio drinks in the psychedelic sight. Letting his eyes darken in pure lust for him while he invades his space, shortening their distance to at least 6 inches apart. He doesn’t know what his actions will result into, and he doesn’t care. The scent of the man’s cologne and whiskey is acutely perfect, arousing every button Sergio has. And the lack of the man’s blond locks, replaced by a fitting (almost ironically burgundy) buzz cut. He feels as if there’s nothing he can’t do at this moment.
“Why is that?” The man is teasing, it’s there in his voice, it’s fucking lovely. He’s letting it be aware that he knows the jest of what Sergio is up to, who he is and what he wants and needs and Sergio let’s himself shiver, let’s the man witness what he can cause with his voice alone by the dull bumps scattering on Sergio’s forearm. The man even smiles a little, releases adoring creases aside of it, and teases more. “Aren’t I dangerous?”
It becomes clearer of their first encounter, and Sergio almost wants to chuckle. Wants to toss the glass out of the man’s hand and drag him somewhere deep and endless and naughty and show him that danger is just what he is looking for. “I haven’t seen it all.” He teases back because he can, little to what the man was expecting.
His smile lightens as he notices the confidence in Sergio. As if (now)three inches apart and a knee cocked between his legs wasn’t enough. He looks as if he’s selecting a choice. Either to satisfy Sergio’s desires or destroy him in an alley like he did with the other.
“I don’t think you want to see it all.” His tone is low, loose, but all so serious.
Sergio, in return, makes his agree but even hungrier. “I think I do.”
He knows what he wants, because that’s the kind of being he is.
He was designed for this.
--
“Is this your gun I’m feeling,” Sergio breathes, nearly groans, into- “Fernando?” Fernando’s ear. He hasn’t stopped molesting him since they’ve been in his dark apartment. He feels he hasn’t touched him enough yet, and his hands are scanning every inch of him through his tough designer clothing, not registering that he must remove it to get to those abs, those hips, that ass.
Fernando doesn’t utter a sound back than breathe even harder against Sergio’s neck, letting him tease his throbbing member as if he owns it already. And that alone has Sergio feeling out of control with himself.
He strips him down. Removing his belt, his pants, his underwear, and his shirt so that the only thing Fernando has left to do is remove his own shoes.
Sergio pushes him even harder against the wall with his body, digging his nails into Fernando’s thighs and grinding his hips into his. And even with all that, not even a moan escapes Fernando. He’s almost as silent as a mouse, and quickly, this pisses Sergio off. Because what was the point of this if he can’t hear him?
If he can’t break him into two?
He doesn’t think twice about wrapping Fernando’s legs around his waist and carrying him to the sofa despite all his weight. He drops him down enough to make him flop onto the cushions without giving him a second to breathe before his cock and tons of precum is pushing into him, because he thought he could get him as vulnerable as he was that first night he saw him. He thought he actually had the power to break apart a demon, but Fernando was no joke. The only thing that changed was his expression when he felt his dick, his brows creased together for a second until they were instantly separated again, leaving his face as it were before; wanton.
Sergio didn’t want that, despite how easily it had him so close to cumming all over this event. He wanted him in pain, in fear, and unexpected of the being that Sergio possess within himself. The man that would love to have a frighten demon as dinner.
Sergio thrusted all of his anger into him, hard enough to make the sofa creak and scratch along the wooden floor. Fernando would lean his head back against the armrest, eyes closed and lips nearly smiling through his merciless fucking. He was winning and he loved every bit of it, but Sergio wanted to erase that completely.
He pulled out, and for once, Fernando showed a hint of surprise on his sweaty, delicious face.
Without an answer for his sudden case, Sergio gets up and walks languidly over to their clothes near the door. He searches through it on his knees for a few minutes before standing back up with something that has Fernando giving him that same deathly look from nights ago.
Sergio’s got his pistol. His thick silver gun that truly makes it and Sergio’s moist body sparkle in the moonlight from the livingroom window.
Fernando’s glare follows him all the way to the sofa as he climbs over him again, the pistol in tow as Sergio taps it against Fernando’s own cheek while he smirks. Knowing exactly what Fernando would love to do to him at that very moment. Sergio loves it.
“I know what you need.” He tells him casually, and Fernando doesn’t sound as ease as him when he responds.
“You don’t know shit of what I fucking need.”
“..Hey, Hey, now.” Sergio murmurs, teases with a small pout and his finger resting upon Fernando’s cold lips. “I thought this was a game that we could both play.”
Fernando snorts. “Did you actually think anybody could play against someone like me?” And he snorts again, nearly laughs before Sergio’s smile cuts him off, has his face shutting down in fear.
“I’m not just anybody.”
Fernando accidently lets out a gasp as he feels something cold slither down his thigh, and before he can think about what it is, Sergio has his hands locked together and against the armrest. He breathes near Fernando’s ear once again before that coldness becomes Fernando’s last taste of anything.
“I know what you need.” he says before shoving the cold head of the silver pistol inside of him, making Fernando’s body finally quake under him. His eyes squeeze shut and he manages to bite open his bottom lip, but it doesn’t stop the uncontrollable moans and shivers that escape him. His hips tightening and jumping with each quick thrust Sergio makes with the gun, his legs tremble as they wrap themselves tightly around Sergio’s waist, and Sergio smiles at all the sounds he makes, the suddenly scorching gun going in and out of him, and the sight of his cock pouring precum all over his stomach. He smiles at the victory of all of it, of taming this demon with his own fucking destructible pistol from months of watching and yearning for it. Fernando’s sobs echo throughout his home, his face painting the perfect portrait of success(pain), but his locked wrists don’t show a fight in them.
“Why are you crying?” He asks at one point, when Fernando opens his eyes, the previous blackness replaced with innocent-like chocolate, and tears immediately free themselves down his redden cheeks.
Fernando doesn’t answer, maybe if his whimpers count, but he can’t answer, because the fright has got a hold of his throat, his being.
Because someone, and not just anybody, managed to shove the fear of light inside of him; an Angel tearing him apart with his own bullets.
--