And now for something completely different...

[frameofmind6]

Ooookay. So I should explain a bit about this. See, a month or two ago, I challenged Ren (aka Abraxas) to write a purely fluffy Inu/Kag piece, and I promised that in return I would write the darkest, most twisted thing I could come up with on a subject and/or characters of his choosing. Well, he held up his end of the bargain, so now it's my turn. The pairing he ended up choosing was Kohaku/Kouga—so this piece is written from the perspective of Kohaku. Anyway, if you’re at all familiar with any of my writing, think pretty much the complete opposite of that, and that’s what you can expect to find here. Consider that your warning… (*grin*)

 

Title: Passion

Author: FrameofMind

Rating: MA

Word Count: 1330

Passion

 

A shadow falls across the twilit mouth of the cave. I do not have to look up to know that he is there.

 

I can hear the untying of leather fastenings as he sheds his chest armor, tosses it to the floor casually, removes the furs at his shoulders and calves. “You gonna stay like that?” he calls out to me, and finally I look up at him. The cool blue of early nightfall creeps around the edge of his bronzed torso, fading into the ripples of shadow that are his muscled abdomen, chest, arms, throat, thighs. I can see his eyes, but not their color. An arrogant fang glints at the corner of his mouth. He seems almost a part of the stone itself, in his solidness, in his strength, in his casual offer of refuge.

 

He does not know why I am here. He does not know why I keep coming back. He does not care, as long as I am here when he arrives.

 

I drag myself from my reverie and get to my feet, untying the sash at my waist and shrugging off my tunic slowly, savoring the sensation of the fabric as it falls away, and the cool evening air that replaces it.

 

When I turn back to him, he has already shed the rest of his furs and is settling himself in his usual place on the ground, reclining against the rock wall to wait for me—hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed. I take the moment to breathe him in, to sweep my gaze over the hard planes of his chest, and finally to the dark, velvety member that rests between his thighs. I kneel before him, reverence pounding in my veins, and run my palms over the smooth skin of his abdomen, trailing my fingertips along the crevices of his hips, and then scooping him gently into my small, cupped hands, watching him grow and harden before my very eyes, feeling myself harden as well in response. Bowing my head, I close my mouth around his hot, hard shaft, taste the salt of his skin, and all at once a shudder of relief cascades through me. He’s like a drug, and I take him deeper, swallowing the taste, the smell, the feel of his skin against my tongue. With each taste, I feel myself grow lighter. The future, the past—both recede into the distance until there is nothing but the present. I have no name. I need no name. I need nothing but this.

 

I see his abdomen rising and falling in sharp pants as I suck hungrily at his cock, hear his grunts of need, of pleasure, and I know the power they promise. His hands grasp my head and force him deeper into my throat, cutting off all air, bringing tears to my eyes—but I feel no fear of death, no pain. When he releases me, I feel the air in my lungs as if for the first time. I feel the release of the tension in my throat. I feel the stinging of my eyes. I feel.

 

He shoves his cock roughly down my throat again, and I nearly choke—this time, the air is even sweeter, and the next is sweeter still. My own stiff member throbs with need, and I revel in the agony as it grows with each thrust.

 

At last he shoves me down again, and with a powerful growl, I feel his seed burn its way down my throat, spreading life deep within me.

 

I sit back, gasping, my lungs burning, my muscles wide awake, screaming, my skin slick with a sheen of sweat, just like his. My eyes fall closed, my fingers itching to tend to my eager cock—but I know I can’t. I want to savor this moment of waking for as long as I possibly can.

 

I don’t know how long I sit there—time has no meaning in the world of the present—but soon I feel his strong arm wrap around my waist from behind, pulling me back up to my knees, and I know it’s time again. I bend forward, supporting my weight with my hands and offering myself to him readily. He gives a cocky laugh and shoves his rigid shaft deep inside me, his thighs flush with mine. A gasp tears itself from my chest as my body stretches to hold him, and once again my eyes tear. More, my heart whispers with each throbbing beat. More, more, more…

 

He pounds into me again and again. Wetness weeps from the tip of my aching member, each thrust sending another pulse of agonizing life’s blood into it. It becomes harder and harder to resist, to prolong the moment—but then to my utter shock, I feel his warm, rough hand close around my small shaft, and I nearly collapse with a sob of gratitude as he begins caressing it, stroking it in time with his thrusts. I have never felt his hands on me in this way. I have dreamed of them while using my own, but nothing could compare to their reality.

 

A new warmth begins to build inside me, white hot, points of light dancing in my vision, somewhere between my mind and reality. All at once, I know that I am living—that I am human again, that I am myself again, free from the taint of blood on my hands, free from the death march of my borrowed existence. My body will die a heroic death, will atone for its crimes—but this soul that has awakened once more is free of judgment. This soul is free. For this moment, at last, I am alive.

 

I cry out as sticky wetness floods from my cock, as the same wetness covers the backs of my thighs, and he collapses on top of me in a panting heap. The life is draining slowly but surely from my body once more, but I hold on to its echoes even as they slip through my fingers. His warmth leaves me, but I do not move, do not even open my eyes, still clinging to the memory of life. He shuffles around, collecting his things. By the time I open my eyes again, he is gone.

 

I don’t bother cleaning myself up. Night has truly fallen now—only the moonlight illuminates a bit of the cave floor near the entrance. Time has resumed; the soul has returned to sleep.

 

I move slowly. I do not fear pain, or death, and yet I am reluctant. I am reluctant to fulfill my destiny. My future is written—it ends, and must end if the one who sentenced me to sleep is ever to be destroyed. I retrieve my chain scythe—only my chain scythe—and walk solemnly to the pool of moonlight, where I kneel. I can only just feel the cool stone beneath my shins.

 

I must die—I know that. And yet every time I find myself in a position to die a useful death, I hesitate a moment too long. My thoughts light on him, on these moments of illumination, of wakefulness, and I cannot allow myself to die. If I am to complete my destiny, this too must end.

 

One hand holds back my once again lifeless member; the other grips the chain scythe. I do not look down. I do not grit my teeth. I merely close my eyes and take a breath, though my lungs feel only hollowness. One quick movement, and it is over. There is pain worse than death, and the stickiness coating my thighs is joined by a rush of warm blood—but I am no longer there. I have cut away my only remaining link to that sleeping soul.

 

When the opportunity next comes, I will be able to die.

 

* * *

 

(A/N: I hashed out the basic idea for this a couple of weeks ago, but I admit I took a little inspiration from Equus last night in fine-tuning Kohaku’s rationale. Not sure if it would even really be noticeable, but it helped me make sense of things before writing it. So, what do you think? Dark enough? I hope? *grin*)

Comments

[dr-abraxas.livejournal.com]

hmm...wolf meat ::iz distracted by wolf meat::

Where was I?

Well, for a first timer it was good. I guess I need to familiarize myself with the play since you took inspiration from it. The sex parts were great but then it is Koga so of course it's good :) Kohaku's twisted mentality is good too.

You need to do this more often. Let yourself be twisted by the darkside :)

[frameofmind6.livejournal.com]

Lol -- thanks! Glad you enjoyed the wolf meat (*grin*). I'm afraid my attempts at darkness tend to teeter on the edge of plain old angst/melodrama, and the darker it gets, the more tempted I am to poke fun at myself. That's a problem (*grin*). Maybe if I explore the dark side of my sense of humor it would be easier to write this twisted, creepy stuff...we'll see...