Angels Choking On Their Halos-Chapter Four:And Clip Their Tiny Wings
Title: Angels Choking On Their Halos.
Author: notjustlyrics
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Alex Gaskarth/Jack Barakat
Summary: Can you imagine if the carnage they had predicted in 2012 had actually happened? Alex Gaskarth doesn't needed to. He's lived through it, right until the end when the devil's children came out to play. Jack Barakat is a proud solider to his master's religion but can you possibly imagine what will happen when they order comes to kill his favorite human?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
And those carnivorous eyes never left mine as I scramble backwards on the prodigious bed. Stabs of disgust thrown towards that unholy creature as I go, somewhere in its barbaric brain it decided that it was allowed ripples, silken bed sheets whilst I lay outside with the cloth on my back and the benumbed wind tearing me to shreds. He disgusts me, disgusts us all. Then why do I want him so?
I do not, I tell myself, I shall resist but my body screams in protest, screams for him, shrieks for his touch, for his slick skin against my own. The hairs that line my arms and neck rise at the mere thought. And it is frightful how much he can do to me with just minor thoughts. I am detestable.
They rake over my exposed skin, those eyes that have seen monstrous crimes, have seen them committed by their own flesh. They’re focused impetuously on their next victim, their next pray. Me. But the oak of the headboard has already met my spine; I have run out of expanse to escape yet the haven of escape was never within my grasp. That dream that was just too preposterous to even reach for, a dead-weight on the sea of freedom.
My heart beats as if the death drums had returned with a vengeance but only to our ears, I am sure he can hear it, he must do it was the only sound in this room my shuffling having stopped minutes ago. Intensity, it’s all that I can see and I have to buckle, its power enough to unnerve my whole existence, shake me to my very core. His laugh is sinister and unforgiving, his demonic form still stood in front of the door, a looming backdrop to this scene of sinful seduction that was taking place in this make shift theater, a production never meant for the eyes of anyone but the two actors improvising without need for a script.
Lights. Camera. Action.
His weight shifts, I catch the movement only slightly, trying not to bristle at the alteration. This only serves as great amusement to him and he advances swifter, stealthily, the age old saying of a hunter stalking his prey never seemed so fitting as it was in this moment. He circles to the side of the bed closest to me, déjà vu, when we first meet. I follow him despite my better judgement, he nears me, overshadowing me my head bent at an alarming angle, my fear trying its hardest to consume me, trying desperately to convince me that I should not be allowing this to get any further. But I am entranced, captivated without the chance of release.
My breath shivers, ocher pupils staring, I am lost. I am sorry, I cannot help it.
Save me.
My cry is not heard, I am ripped from my position, my knees still resting on the bed. I am now head height, lips attached to my own and it is the sweetest taste of sin, I can feel my holiness drip from me with each press of cursed lips. Hands twist fiercely in the remaining denim that clings my hips, ripping me closer to him, hopelessly pressed against his dressed chest. My hands clasp the whiteness, my only gravity in this moment, the only thing holding me to Earth as his lips try and drag me to the fiery depth beneath. It’s heated, messy, desperate, deceitful, dirty. He is merciless and I find myself asking if I expected anything else, a gentle lover? I would be kidding myself if those thoughts even so much as passed my mind. I feel the need he expresses and I match it unable to do anything more, my head a blur of two toned hair and a living carcass. Help me, for I cannot help myself.
Oxygen surges into places it is much needed as he relieves the tense on my lips, abusing my collar instead, lips a seal, teeth a menace as the sink into me, eliciting a noise that I am sure is music to his ears as he moves and repeats, all the way in a misguided path towards my own ears.
“I knew it, filthy,” he laps at the shell of my ear and I agree I am filthy, I am allowing this beast to take control of me, loving every minute of it, knowing it is wrong and I need to stop this insanity but I carry on. I let him. I agree in my filthiest way. I moan, his lip sucking a blemish into my skin. A sign of ownership. I should be horrified but instead I encourage him, my noise slipping from between my parted lips.
Not a second had seemed to pass before he is shoving me forcefully onto my back as he follows, laying all his satanic weight onto my tiny frame, still I don’t complain, my lips forcefully silence by his, tongue as dominant as his demeanor. His hips rock onto my own, small sparks of delicious heat shoot from within me, warming the tips of fingers that find themselves wound into the hair slipping down his neck.
Closer, closer, more, more.
His digits dance along my sides coaxing goose bumps to follow even in the feverishness of his skin, my breath shuddering, unable to cope along with my mind. My soiled shirt is soon being tugged off of my skin, an impatient demon above me glaring down with malicious intent that I cannot argue with. I lift my arms and the shirt is discarded, it will be found later. My hands return to his back, I notice already without that dazzling shirt, clawing at the smooth skin there. I pray to God, oh help me as his lips travel the expanse of my chest, tongue a sin of its own, a torment in its own right yet it still travels lower. And lower.
My voice decibels louder, it really had been too long, my fingers run and clutch at his midnight hair, breathing heavy. But he stops at the waistband, I know what he wants and he will not have it. I refuse him. I refuse to beg for him. It is him who needs me. He bites at the sensitive flesh and I am gone, a sultry moan torn from my vocal cords without permission.
“Please!” I all but shout, hip lifting of the charcoal sheets beneath me, the sneer felt against my glossy skin, another bite. Send me to hell right now.
The offensive garments are wrenched from my body, the sound of fraying fabric ringing through the air, made un-wearable by the thoughtless creation whose scorching breath was ghosting over the place I wanted that mouth the most. My arousal levels sky high and painfully obvious now that there was nothing to hide it behind. His own jeans staying firmly in place as his tongue darted from its home within his mouth. A single lick up my shaft.
“Fuck!”
“Such dirty words for such pretty lips,”
“Oh Lord save me,”
“No one can save you now, darling,” fingers are in my face, I look to him, what does he expect from me? He sends me a questioning look and the lightning bolt hits me. Without so much as a second thought I open, his digits sliding into my warm, wet mouth with easy, lips still spit slick from the kiss. I make sure to capture his gaze, eyes a mock of innocence that I have not had in a long time. My tongue swirls and slickens, his face a wash of anticipation and lust. What a beautiful emotion on such an infernal creature.
He has had enough, his fingers no longer cohabit with my tongue, instead they tease at my entrance. I will not beg. I am stronger than this. He
continues to bait me, yet I am stubborn. Just the pads, the tips of his fingers enter me and my walls are broken.
“More please more,” I am ashamed, or I will be when this is all over but right now my lust overrides my rationality. He does as I beg, one slipping in and out of me with little residence and it is enough to get the ball rolling, I writhe trying in vain to get more fiction, more feeling, more stimulation. He just smirks, flicks his tongue against my length as he adds another and my hips falter without my consent.
He never needed my consent, he would never have asked, but he could see I wanted it and for that I hated him.
He encases the head with that devilish mouth, pads brushing my prostate and in a moment of bliss, I arc, hoping for his fingers to press deep as the words of the whores spew from my agape mouth. I have no control over myself. He chuckles wickedly at my submission, at my expense and slips in a third and I am seeing white as I fall deeper and deeper into ecstasy. I cannot control my mouth as the words tumble faster.
“More, harder, faster, please just anything,”
“Give me one good reason,” he stills his movements and I despair.
“You brought me here and what for to leave me hanging with no relief for yourself,” I growl, venom dripping from my voice.
I see the flame in his eyes burn just that bit brighter as I retaliate, no doubt forming his rebuttal right then. I wasn't wrong, he pulls his fingers completely from within me, ignoring my groans in protest as he strips himself of the once neatly ironed, now completely wrinkled, jeans.
Underwear but a thing of the past. I can see the debate coursing through him as he stares down at me, the measly human.
“Make shift lube,” He voices aloud, “do I spit or have your slutty little mouth do the work for me?” Am I meant to answer that? Didn't think so, as the choice is again made for me, his hands curl into the straw that I once called my hair, pushing me down to cock level. I blink at it for a moment, then take a testing lick, flick my eyes upwards, gauging his reaction; his breath is heavy so I continue. I make a vacuum with my lips and cheeks, sucking gently as the groans float towards my ears only spurring me on further.
He cannot last much longer, I can hear it in his voice and I am right because I am being pushed off of his cock soon after, my hands once again handcuffed by his this time above my head and he has aligned himself before I get a chance to breath, lips still shiny with saliva, a familiar feeling.
He needs no permission, he is pushing in and my body is reacting. A painful burn as my walls are stretched in order to accommodate him, hitched breaths and legs wrapping around waists. Shallow thrust to begin with, a show of slight mercy, allowing me to adjust.
I give him the sign, he just knows. It’s like he knows my body inside out already because the assault on my prostate is instant. I scream.
“God.”
“Cry to him, darling. Tell him how good I make you feel.”
“Fuck, harder.”
My wish is his command, a brush of constant pleasure, I can feel it building deep within me, I don’t regret it.
“You moans match you fucking, darling, you are such a whore.”
“Says the demon who brought me here just to defile my innocence.”
“You haven’t been innocent in a long while, slut.”
A painting of sweat and need, lust a tinted white in our visions. The onslaught of euphoria heading our way was almost tangible; we could taste it on the tips of our tongues like tiny tablets of rapture.
“So close, cliff edge.”
“Touch yourself,” his voice is husky and I don’t have to be told twice. I reach for the aching cock between our bodies, a messy rhythm to match his sloppy thrusts. We both stutter as we reach our peek, my voice high in pitch as I scream profanities to the sky, his low as he growls into my ear, teeth perching the flesh of my skin, blood seeping out. I was sure to be outraged any other time but as of now sleep was beginning to overwhelm me.Who was this handsome stranger, this dangerous monster? Why had I let him do this?
The last thing I saw was that sinful smirk.