Caged and Contained
The destruction upstairs had only served to sour Thomas' mood further and he glared at the cowed camera crew as he stalked back to his room to shake the plaster out of his hair and change into new clothes. He positively itched for activity, and the Hunger growled from its dwelling place within his soul, demanding sustenance. Unfortunately, fact that his recent insomnia seemed to have weakened his control over the demon worried Thomas enough that he wasn't going to go find activity or feed until he was sure he'd tightened the cage again. Thomas closed the door to his room and sat against the door, blocking anyone from coming in, and closed his eyes.
Lust lingered in the room like perfume, cloying and ghostly. He purred at the feel of it, reached out for the last impression of its presence. He knew those who had been here. Edward. Lacrimosa. They were his. He had claimed them both and they were his. Their every gasp of pleasure, every whimper of desire, those were marks he'd left upon their minds, upon their very souls even after the physical feelings faded. He reached for that imprint of need, of want, of desire...
And found himself slamming against cage bars. He howled. He was going to have them, to take them and drain every drop of stolen life from their bodies. He was going to bring them to their knees in pleasure so intense it would shatter their psyches. They were his, his sustenance, his doe and his buck. He was going to swallow them whole and revel in their desires...
"No you're not," Thomas hissed, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort. In his mind's eye, he tightened the lock on the demon's cage with his will, thickened the bars of its cage with thoughts of family and friends, of his mother and Harry, and he twisted through every inch of that cage his memories of Justine. The Hunger screamed then, and Thomas smiled grimly. "You come out when I say you can, otherwise I'll have that cage made entirely of those memories," he growled. "Do you understand me?"
The demon howled again, all rage and pain as it threw itself against the cage. Thomas felt something shift, sullen, in the demon and let out a long, shuddering breath, unwrapping the memories of Justine from the cage. The memory of pain lingered and the demon was quiet. Thomas' smile grew and he walked over to his dresser, pulling out another fitted shirt, this one pure white, and tossed it on along with dark slacks. He needed to go out.
Lust lingered in the room like perfume, cloying and ghostly. He purred at the feel of it, reached out for the last impression of its presence. He knew those who had been here. Edward. Lacrimosa. They were his. He had claimed them both and they were his. Their every gasp of pleasure, every whimper of desire, those were marks he'd left upon their minds, upon their very souls even after the physical feelings faded. He reached for that imprint of need, of want, of desire...
And found himself slamming against cage bars. He howled. He was going to have them, to take them and drain every drop of stolen life from their bodies. He was going to bring them to their knees in pleasure so intense it would shatter their psyches. They were his, his sustenance, his doe and his buck. He was going to swallow them whole and revel in their desires...
"No you're not," Thomas hissed, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort. In his mind's eye, he tightened the lock on the demon's cage with his will, thickened the bars of its cage with thoughts of family and friends, of his mother and Harry, and he twisted through every inch of that cage his memories of Justine. The Hunger screamed then, and Thomas smiled grimly. "You come out when I say you can, otherwise I'll have that cage made entirely of those memories," he growled. "Do you understand me?"
The demon howled again, all rage and pain as it threw itself against the cage. Thomas felt something shift, sullen, in the demon and let out a long, shuddering breath, unwrapping the memories of Justine from the cage. The memory of pain lingered and the demon was quiet. Thomas' smile grew and he walked over to his dresser, pulling out another fitted shirt, this one pure white, and tossed it on along with dark slacks. He needed to go out.