Punishment [1b/?]
anonymous
August 28 2010, 18:56:32 UTC
Arthur could feel the demon watching him. He was afraid. Loneliness was better than this, than being stuck in an old house with a demon that was set on hurting him. He had grown used to being alone, used to being shunned. Now the attention was on him, and he wanted no part of it.
Arthur decided to run. When the demon left him, he would run away and never look back. He let his arm slip from the blankets, and over the side of the bed opposite where (he thought) the demon sat. There was no noise aside from the shifting of blankets, and he slowly searched for the feeling of silk, the tunic that had been tossed aside. He found it and pulled it back under the blankets, then cradled it in his arms.
Moving hurt, and he knew that he couldn't hope to put it on while the demon remained in the same room with him. He also knew that putting it on would mean that he had to move, and he really wasn't ready for that.
The demon never left the room. Arthur was forced to lay in wait while the sun rose into the sky above. The demon had passed by him numerous times, just walking and looking at the blankets. He inwardly begged that the demon was simply looking, not planning anything, and certainly not thinking about what to do when it finally made a move on the angel. Arthur was terrified, and the slight pressure that would contort the blankets (like a finger, gliding along skin) made him shiver.
Night came again, and with it, came the demon. Arthur had frozen when he felt the bed dip behind him, and an arm fell upon his side, holding him in place.
“I used to steal the blankets,” Alfred whispered to him, his voice clear despite the layers of fabric that separated them. “You called me a demon when I did. A “little devil”. What does that make you?”
“Don't touch me!” Arthur protested, but his voice was far from a shout. Even to his own ears he sounded weak and humbled, devoid of angelic pride. He could feel a mouth pressing against his neck through the blankets, and a hand moved down, towards his legs. The hand pulled, and Arthur couldn't stop the cry that escaped him.
Everything stopped, and Arthur could only hear his breathing, and feel the pain of movement.
Then things were started again. His wings were pinned against his back as the demon crept closer, and he was unable to hold onto the blankets that were torn from his grasp. The demon had left his back and delicately climbed over him so that they were face-to-face, and blue eyes watched him intently.
Arthur pushed away, shivering in pain when he moved, and the demon followed.
“Don't do this again,” Arthur whispered, and the demon moved his hand.
Arthur decided to run. When the demon left him, he would run away and never look back. He let his arm slip from the blankets, and over the side of the bed opposite where (he thought) the demon sat. There was no noise aside from the shifting of blankets, and he slowly searched for the feeling of silk, the tunic that had been tossed aside. He found it and pulled it back under the blankets, then cradled it in his arms.
Moving hurt, and he knew that he couldn't hope to put it on while the demon remained in the same room with him. He also knew that putting it on would mean that he had to move, and he really wasn't ready for that.
The demon never left the room. Arthur was forced to lay in wait while the sun rose into the sky above. The demon had passed by him numerous times, just walking and looking at the blankets. He inwardly begged that the demon was simply looking, not planning anything, and certainly not thinking about what to do when it finally made a move on the angel. Arthur was terrified, and the slight pressure that would contort the blankets (like a finger, gliding along skin) made him shiver.
Night came again, and with it, came the demon. Arthur had frozen when he felt the bed dip behind him, and an arm fell upon his side, holding him in place.
“I used to steal the blankets,” Alfred whispered to him, his voice clear despite the layers of fabric that separated them. “You called me a demon when I did. A “little devil”. What does that make you?”
“Don't touch me!” Arthur protested, but his voice was far from a shout. Even to his own ears he sounded weak and humbled, devoid of angelic pride. He could feel a mouth pressing against his neck through the blankets, and a hand moved down, towards his legs. The hand pulled, and Arthur couldn't stop the cry that escaped him.
Everything stopped, and Arthur could only hear his breathing, and feel the pain of movement.
Then things were started again. His wings were pinned against his back as the demon crept closer, and he was unable to hold onto the blankets that were torn from his grasp. The demon had left his back and delicately climbed over him so that they were face-to-face, and blue eyes watched him intently.
Arthur pushed away, shivering in pain when he moved, and the demon followed.
“Don't do this again,” Arthur whispered, and the demon moved his hand.
Reply
Leave a comment