(no subject)
So, having not written for eons - within lieth torture for unsuspecting readers.
Heero
Blackness. And light pooling like white blemishes. The night hung quiet, made silent and inconspicuous by the night noises - the wind shaking the branches, the chirp of the old frog, the white noisyness of the hours which were his. A smirk tugged his cheek higher, before he discarded spending the rest of this time lurking.
His blood, his feet, his eyes moved. The park melted into street with asphalt leading him past louts and gigglers. The road snaked and he flicked a match, before dropping the lit wood as he toyed with the next stick. Left or right. Lights or darkness. The lusciousness of a writhing mass or the blissful quiet of home. Another flame flew towards oblivion.
Heero turned away from insanity towards torture; beautiful, temptuous pain.
The Grand had a line of scantily clad women and cling-wrapped men before its doors. Heero walked to the bouncers, and they unclipped the rope - red velvet, but not thick in its silkiness - as he moved up and between the men.
The noise slammed into him, but the call hit him first. That's what it felt like, or perhaps his perception was just an indicator of the force of the call - a pull he didn't believe even the mythical sirens could rival. Heero walked into the centre of it all, where his mouth dried and his heart fluttered. Each beat reverberating. Deep within him and against the surface of his skin. While his body strove against his will, his mind wondered about the equality of intensity, as he stood in the centre of the dancefloor.
Stockstill. Torture. Another time. Another pain enforced through stillness. Heero felt each cell on his body strain. Scream. Take one. Any one. So many, all of them willing. All of them waiting, to have their lives be given meaning. And Heero knew his choosing would confer specialness. Whether for a moment or for another moment longer. Take them screamed his body and still and yet and but he stood. Withstanding the moving bodies. Withstanding his shrieking body as it drowned out the thumping, deafening music.
Only just begun, Heero thought - it's only just beginning. His eyes closed. Sight added nothing. Hands, hair, feet bumped and brushed him. People strobed red behind his lids, their corpuscles jerking and moving - filling their outlines.
And across his lids strobed with red moved a twitch of black. Move, move, turn, twist. The grace of a scorpion. Across the lids, an identification made had Heero's eyes flying open before he was conscious of willing them so.
There, black against black, briefly cursed by the lights or by lighter clothed people, was a shadow he hadn't seen for a while. Heero watched Duo move. His grace defied language. He danced as though he claimed the air and conquered it. like violence and sex. Like the last moment before a body gave up on life - full of fire and burning intent, recalcitrant, spurting reaches of ... but then again, his thoughts of Duo were always seeped in cum and its lustful precursor.
Duo
The hunter kept his eye on the prey. The lithe, slim body lost in the mass of people remained where it had been since Duo entered the club. Heero was punishing himself again, it seemed. One would have thought that after a couple of decades of standing in the middle of seething mobs, Heero would have had enough. But apparently not, for here he was found again.
Duo turned, pivoted and turned again until he stood behind Heero, a slim short handspan separating them, until Duo stepped into him. Heero's head fell back a fraction, his chin lifting as the bloodlust for hundreds receded. Duo's sharp musk rose surrounding him, so Heero tented the air as Duo pressed into him.
Duo moved back, brushed his fingerpads across the seat of his quarry's pants and then walked away. He could sense a moving vacuum follow him. Duo exchanged his token for his coat, before clattering down the front steps of the club. Or he would have clattered if his energetic slink actually made any noise. He walked up the street, anticipation hastening his usual languid pace. He couldn't hear Heero, but he could smell the flatness of his scent. Up the stairs, door opened, door closed. Coat on chair, blinds up and the moonlight spilled Heero into view, looking unchanged. What a surprise.
Duo looked at Heero, who looked back at him before leaping, onto the bed, with a trapped Duo under him arching up into the heat.
"Go on. You know you want to. Bite me."