Drabble - On such a night as this...
And there's more. There's always more it seems. To my very wonderful darknight99 who made my first icons for me, who explained the vagaries of LJ when I was dazed and confused; her patience is the stuff of legends *g*
In the depths of the night, he awakens. He can’t stop thinking long enough to let himself relax into sleep. By his side his new … his new Sir is dead to the world, spreadeagled across the bed. He has barely enough room to stretch out so he slips noiselessly out of bed and curls up on the window seat.
So much has happened. He has gone from being a Master with Machiavellian talents to the boy of a Master who seems far more sadistic than he ever was. Since the day he walked through the door of this house, almost to the minute, he has been in pain. He lives in pain, sleeps in pain, eats in pain and he comes in pain. Such exquisite pain. Pain like he never knew existed. Glorious wonderful pain that he knows he is becoming addicted to.
When a sleepy voice orders him back to bed, when he is held in a vice like grip, his face pressed to his Sir’s neck, he is powerless to resist. For now this is him, what he needs, what he wants.
There is no point in trying to escape the inevitable.
In the depths of the night, he awakens. He can’t stop thinking long enough to let himself relax into sleep. By his side his new … his new Sir is dead to the world, spreadeagled across the bed. He has barely enough room to stretch out so he slips noiselessly out of bed and curls up on the window seat.
So much has happened. He has gone from being a Master with Machiavellian talents to the boy of a Master who seems far more sadistic than he ever was. Since the day he walked through the door of this house, almost to the minute, he has been in pain. He lives in pain, sleeps in pain, eats in pain and he comes in pain. Such exquisite pain. Pain like he never knew existed. Glorious wonderful pain that he knows he is becoming addicted to.
When a sleepy voice orders him back to bed, when he is held in a vice like grip, his face pressed to his Sir’s neck, he is powerless to resist. For now this is him, what he needs, what he wants.
There is no point in trying to escape the inevitable.