A kiss, cold as a November rain, kiss of a traitor, cold as a snake-skin

[morsus_et_mors]

Date: Friday, 7 July 2000
Time: Late afternoon
Location: Cobalt Viriconium antique records shoppe, Muggle London
Characters Involved: Montague Morsus and OPEN (Please, ask before joining)
Status: Incomplete
Rating: PG-13 at the very least

Comments

[morsus_et_mors]

"Does the spider bother you?" Montague asked, voice barely containing the mocking laughter. Terry was most obviously frightened - although of what, Montague was not completely sure. The spider? But it was Impedimenta-ed and was not exactly two centimetres long - all simple magic, of course. Must have been something else.

Then again - nothing surprising. The boy was a container of all sorts of mental insecurities, clearly.

"You are bothered," Montague said after a few seconds filled with silence - only the small drops of Terry's cigarette ashes making a 'banging' sound against the floor.

It was interesting - watching the other man tremble, very imperceptibly, eyes closed, with random twitches of his limbs disturbing the peace of the moment. Should he let the boy suffer a bit more or release him now? Play or no play? Such an interesting choice. Did Montague feel like a Muggle Messiah or more like their Lucifer? (Such an interesting notion, that.)

It said - in every deed there is an element of play, and there was a firework of

[terry_schtiwl]

Terry, figuring the answer to Montague's question was fairly blatant, said nothing. Instead, he merely bit the inside of his cheek, focusing on the unsettling fact that Blitz was being quiet. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the silence- no, it was nice- but such long leaves from the usually constant chatter left him feeling uneasy and jumpy

[morsus_et_mors]

"You could try," Montague's voice echoed Terry's words, adding its own idiosyncratic modulations to distort the words beyond their initial meaning. They sounded like a question now, like a threat - like a final threat in an asking voice, with just that smallest nuance of curiosity, detached like the spider's legs from its head - for ever and ever

[terry_schtiwl]

Watching the tides turn in Montague's eyes, Terry said nothing for a moment. He merely blinked as the man repeated his words; his left eye twitching annoyingly. Certainly, Montague had his own force of gravity, he reasoned. There was no other explanation Terry could come up with as to why he'd allow himself so close to the man; -or rather, as to why he'd let the man come so close to him.

With eyes slightly unfocused, Terry listened to the heated words that Montague spoke. Madness and Horror. And, as per usual, the boy reacted only with slowly dilating pupils and a look of worry. -Adding in a little eye-widening at the man's finishing words and action- never a kiss. A touch

[morsus_et_mors]

That voice, so terribly wavering, meek, so fragile - it felt as if though Terry was made of glass, and any sound louder than a whisper would reverberate against the brittle walls, shattering the boy. Montague did not recognize the words - they had to have been uttered by a Muggle, for no Wizard poet had ever written anything similar to that. He listened to the words flow freely, enveloping him quietly, and he let them - the beauty too striking for him to abandon.

Like a beggar's prayer before the midnight frost leaves its silky bite, on the flesh, so pure and crystal.

In everyone's lives, there had to be a moment when the old ways were forgotten, even for a single moment - in everyone's lives. Like a momentary insanity, the lapse of judgement, something that cost them dearly. They all had to have been marred initially with the blemish of illusion, the inability to see past the artificial constructions. It was all - 'enlightenment!', 'strange coincidences' and 'deeds of angels'. Never the imperfect IdMontague had never been prone

[terry_schtiwl]

Cyanide syrup. Those were the only words that Terry could come up with to describe the peculiar taste of Montague's algid fingers on his own burning alabaster mixed with the peculiar words. Lethal, noxious poison dripping with thick sweetness.

He swallowed; his own beryl eyes unblinking- caught on Montague's brine. Terry could feel the colour being pushed out of the way as the black centres expanded. Their faces were close- only mere universes apart.

Hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht? The world dropped away as darkness burgeoned. Terry was distantly reminded of Obler's paradox; of how the night sky is dark, when in a static infinite universe the night sky ought to be bright. With all of the blinding holocaust, everything still managed to lurk in the shadows.

In its red cage, Terry's heart beat lustily. His face betrayed his mental disquietude- eyebrows peaked with worry, lips turned down. "I have tremor cordis on me; my heart dances. But not for joy."

The Winter's Tale, indeed.

[morsus_et_mors]

In an unwitting contest of knowledge, no, not that. Not a thought given to artificiality. It came out of them in threads, silver threads, like memories into the Pensieve, swirling in and out of their lips, mimicking the words.

"Affection? Thy intention stabs the Centre," Montague replied, cocking his head slightly to the right. It skewed the angle, changing the landscape dramatically. The snowy-white steppes of Terry's skin unblemished by vulgar dots and commas, forests and your cathedrals - the pure and lightweight nothingness in between Montague's palms. He moved his thumbs, caressing the boy's porcelain, gaze on the dichotomy of his fingers and the other's face - tanned against pale. And yet, in the darkness there was more frost than it was to the spectral All.

Too hot, too hot."Tell me you are mine," Montague commanded imperatively, hands still cupping Terry's cheeks. Something had to be done to that perfection. The ever-lasting human desire to taint, rot and paint with blood reds and hematoma blue. "Concede," he said, their

[terry_schtiwl]

Dark brows still clashing over his glasses, Terry continued to look worriedly on at Montague, eyes wide. He bit his lower lip lightly as cold fingers woke and became animated with still frigid life. He felt like shrinking, curling up into himself, and disappearing into white. Momentarily his mind went back to the spider, so small- and he envied it.

It was already walking paths towards an Unknown Terry wouldn't discover for years.

But his thoughts were jarred quickly- eyes focusing once again on the small ships, white sails snapping, sailing on high seas, as the man came in closer. The galaxies bewteen them were collapsing! He was destroying them! Terry, feeling frightened, inhaled quickly, about to pull back- when he heard the words that were being spoken to him. His brow smoothed as a fearful sort of realisation fell upon him. Concede?Sell him your soul

[morsus_et_mors]

"What a darling one," Montague whispered, voice as detached-sounding as always. There was a sudden sadness to how his skin glowed, tanned and darker than Terry's. It had never happened to him before. But there was a first time for everything, wasn't it

[terry_schtiwl]

The velvet on Terry's cheek was unable to completely stifle the low sounds of Montague's heart. Although, it took the boy a minute to figure out if he was really hearing the beatings of the other man's heart or if it was the sound of his own blood pounding so loud. But the soft pulse that could be felt through the painful fabric was surely Montague's. --And, quite honestly, this surprised Terry. (He was certain, by now, that Montague didn't have a heart. But rather a miniature machine that did the heart's business without all of the emotion

[morsus_et_mors]

And so they stood - a brother holding a brother, alone in the world of maelstroms, safe and secure in their solitude. This would find its way into Montague's memory and etch itself there, making sure that Montague never forget, and return to that place in moments of disquietitude

[terry_schtiwl]

Oh- what? The cold hands that had been holding Terry close released him- and the body he'd been pressed against moved aside, forcing the boy to take a heavy step forward to catch himself. He blinked at Montague.

It took a few moments for things to come back- thoughts, memories, emotions. Terry, when he (or his body, anyway) had been leaning against Montague, had been 'somewhere else.' Not that he remembered where that place was now. -And he was feeling more than a little spacey.

With hesitant steps Terry trailed Montague, after he'd gestured, to the cashier's counter. And he stood a good metre away as the employee began ringing up the records, idly tapping his left sneaker on the dirty floorboards. Eyes were kept on a strange burn (that resembled someone Terry couldn't quite put his finger on) on the floor next to the 'R & B' rack.

The boy could hardly collect his thoughts for even a second. --A sure sign that medicines were in order.

[morsus_et_mors]

At the sight of Montague (and Terry quite the distance away), the sales-girl stood up from her seat, abandoning her previous occupation of polishing her nails. Something about the couple seemed slightly off, the tall man in front of her giving off even stranger vibes. She would later on swear that she felt hairs on her back stand on end, the moment she laid her eyes on him