The Science Of Fear
WHO: Ion and Hak Soo
WHEN: January 16th-17th, stupid o'clock in the morning
WHERE: ...an excellent question
WHAT: The most epic thread of 2011. Also, carjacking.
Though many would claim otherwise, Ion Sollomovici did not possess exceptional night vision, despite his habit of joining the nomads of Liberty’s nocturnal life. The preternatural grace as he stalked through the pitch black living room was mere familiarity with the arrangement of furniture and other impediments as he passed through silently. His navigations led him to the base of the stairs that upwards to a far-darker abode; he was equally familiar with the upstairs.
The stairs had the decency not to creak under his weight, inoffensive though it was. Not that there was anyone who would be awakened by the noise, should it happen to occur. There were only two people in this house tonight. Or perhaps hunter and prey was a better analogy; the cat and the unknowing mouse.
Terribly clichéd metaphors, so he pushed them from his mind.
The landing was clear, as he’d expected. Darker, surely, than the downstairs had been.
It hardly mattered.
He retraced the route up to the attic where his quarry awaited him, asleep and unwitting of the approaching danger.
And thus, the attic and the door that separated him from what he sought.
Another impediment, easily dealt with. The door was never locked.
It slid open smoothly and without a sound, well-cared for by Ion’s own ministrations in the house’s upkeep. No protests, which was perhaps best for Ion’s peace of mind at the moment. He was sure to be dealing with plenty of them presently.
A bed and its occupant lay innocently in the corner, silent save for the soft breathing of the deeply slumbering. Ion wrinkled his nose in disgust. Sleeping so early? Hardly allowable. He crept closer, easing himself onto the bed with a sadistic smirk that was lost in the dark.
Hak Soo slept like an idiot, flat on his back and vulnerable to anything.
Ion shook his head and rolled his eyes. Moron.
Long legs folded easily to straddle hips hidden beneath a duvet. He bent over the Korean, long hair slipping over his shoulder to brush against the sleeping face beneath him.
“Hak Soo,” he whispered, sharing the same breath in that small space between their faces, “Hak Soo. Trezeşte-te, te nenorocit fiu de catea.”
…at this point, he was just growing irritated by the lack of responsiveness. With one final sigh and cast of the eyes to heaven as if begging for patience, he gave a definitive roll of his hips and ground down.
...that had definitely gained a response.
He slammed his hand down over Hak Soo's protesting mouth and smiled sweetly at the man pinned down by his weight.
"Don't scream," he advised.
WHEN: January 16th-17th, stupid o'clock in the morning
WHERE: ...an excellent question
WHAT: The most epic thread of 2011. Also, carjacking.
Though many would claim otherwise, Ion Sollomovici did not possess exceptional night vision, despite his habit of joining the nomads of Liberty’s nocturnal life. The preternatural grace as he stalked through the pitch black living room was mere familiarity with the arrangement of furniture and other impediments as he passed through silently. His navigations led him to the base of the stairs that upwards to a far-darker abode; he was equally familiar with the upstairs.
The stairs had the decency not to creak under his weight, inoffensive though it was. Not that there was anyone who would be awakened by the noise, should it happen to occur. There were only two people in this house tonight. Or perhaps hunter and prey was a better analogy; the cat and the unknowing mouse.
Terribly clichéd metaphors, so he pushed them from his mind.
The landing was clear, as he’d expected. Darker, surely, than the downstairs had been.
It hardly mattered.
He retraced the route up to the attic where his quarry awaited him, asleep and unwitting of the approaching danger.
And thus, the attic and the door that separated him from what he sought.
Another impediment, easily dealt with. The door was never locked.
It slid open smoothly and without a sound, well-cared for by Ion’s own ministrations in the house’s upkeep. No protests, which was perhaps best for Ion’s peace of mind at the moment. He was sure to be dealing with plenty of them presently.
A bed and its occupant lay innocently in the corner, silent save for the soft breathing of the deeply slumbering. Ion wrinkled his nose in disgust. Sleeping so early? Hardly allowable. He crept closer, easing himself onto the bed with a sadistic smirk that was lost in the dark.
Hak Soo slept like an idiot, flat on his back and vulnerable to anything.
Ion shook his head and rolled his eyes. Moron.
Long legs folded easily to straddle hips hidden beneath a duvet. He bent over the Korean, long hair slipping over his shoulder to brush against the sleeping face beneath him.
“Hak Soo,” he whispered, sharing the same breath in that small space between their faces, “Hak Soo. Trezeşte-te, te nenorocit fiu de catea.”
…at this point, he was just growing irritated by the lack of responsiveness. With one final sigh and cast of the eyes to heaven as if begging for patience, he gave a definitive roll of his hips and ground down.
...that had definitely gained a response.
He slammed his hand down over Hak Soo's protesting mouth and smiled sweetly at the man pinned down by his weight.
"Don't scream," he advised.