Kink Meme: Part the First

[misskass]

PROMPT POST #1

Get kinking!

Rules, preferably to be read before prompting/filling.

~*THE OFFICIAL TH KINK MEME DELICIOUS ARCHIVE*~

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FILL: Crimson the Ribbon 02/10

[anonymous]

Another series of uncertain halting steps brought Georg to the front door. There wasn't a flicker of light inside and his heart beat madly in his chest. Throat dry, he reached out a shaky hand wanting to knock. But the door wasn't closed, he noticed now. It was just barely open, enough so that the wind whistled through the crack, making it a bit wider with every blow.

His survival instinct was going crazy and everything inside him screamed, 'run!'. Again, he forged on, as if spellbound. He'd made it this far, all the way to the front door, how could he turn back now? No, he had to keep going. He'd never heard any gruesome stories about this particular pair. People around the block barely saw them, at all. They were a recluse couple, never bothering anyone. Surely, they wouldn't go all savage on one poor, shy student? At least, he hoped not.

He yanked the door open, collecting all his fearlessness and channeling it into his hands. But it didn't last long. He stepped inside the dark hallway, squinting. The very air felt like a choking cloud of thick dust. Once again, he just wanted to run, run as fast as he could. Faster than wind, and yet, somehow he sensed with whatever instincts he had, that he could never hope to outrun whatever, or whoever skulked around here soundlessly.

"H-hello?" His voice was like a creak of the stairs and he hated to sound so small. He was a hummingbird flying blindly into the widely open jaws of an alligator. Everything inside him rebelled and shook, but he kept walking, albeit at a snail's pace. He couldn't see anything but shades of black, as though the house was full of looming thunder clouds. Georg needed a lightning, yet, would it strike him? He wasn't sure.

No sound, no sign of life. He was shivering, teeth almost chattering, yet it wasn't freezing. He was burning up on the inside. How could one be sweating buckets and still feel so cold? He put his arms out, trying to feel the walls to help him walk along. Where was he even going? He should turn back, immediately, and get away while he still could. He'd made it inside, he won. Yet, he pushed on. Something kept calling out to him, and he could swear he felt someone's gaze but he saw nothing, heard nothing. And only fear wracked his body inside out, turning his blood to ice.

In a flash of a split second fire exploded lighting up the space. In that all too fleeting moment, Georg was certain his life had come to an end. His heart stopped, skipped beats, then stuttered on all too fast and he staggered forward, catching his breath. He blinked rapidly, gasping for air like a stranded fish. He heard a powerful crash, upstairs somewhere, and the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. He could barely breathe, his heart beating a mile a minute.

He was in the living room, and it was the old fireplace that burned now, flames bright and warm. The furniture was antique, most likely older than even his grand-parents, but seemed to be in good conditioned. Polished wood, plush chairs and footstools, colorful cushions matching the thick drapes shielding the windows. A huge chandelier dangled from the ceiling, swinging and clinking melodically. Suddenly, there was sound, there was sight, and life.

And a voice. A dark, sultry voice, like dripping honey melting into sour syrup.