Renegade [NSFW] (ThenThereWereNone & MoldaviteGreen)

[ThenThereWereNone]

Fair.

A bubbling laugh of incredulity fizzled and popped in the Keeper's chest. The very suggestion of it used in the current context was ridiculous at best; woefully naïve at worst. Fuck fair. The world wasn't built on fair and one didn't survive it by playing as such. There were very few things Bellamy wouldn't do to get what he wanted. Fairness be damned.

Speaking of fair, Eishrin was anything but. He'd not only forced Bellamy to wait, but he now had the gall to snap and bark—no doubt he'd have already bitten if he weren't muzzled—beneath Bellamy as he burned with a feverish heat, slick skin pulled taut over quivering muscles. The man's unfettered vocalisations, his choked off plea for patience did not speak of an expectation of fairness.

And there was no space for fair as Bellamy fucked into the man's tight hole, blind and deaf to all but the man whose body he laid claim to. Slick, wet, constricting heat. His cock plunged into the spongy softness of the man's inner walls. Driving forward with a relentless, feral urgency. A punishing fastidiousness that belied thought or reason. He did not wait, did not allow Eishrin to flinch away from him, his claws pressing into the man's hips.

He took the man apart, one punctuated thrust at a time. His mind a humming silence, his ears kissed with Eishrin's grunts and moans of conflicted sensation. Pain. Pleasure. Shame at what it meant. What it could mean.

And then Eishrin stopped fighting it. A gradual bleeding away of tension coiled tight. Defiance shattered.

The man's hand in his hair, drawing him closer caused Bellamy to inhale a lungful of awareness, and he slowed the vicious intesnsity of this thrusts. Gums aching, he pressed his lips against the man's shoulder before parting them just enough to drag his fangs across Eishrin's skin, fighting the instinctual need to bite down. The Guardian didn't make it any easier to resist temptation as his large hand cupped the back of the Keeper's neck.

Losing himself to the bliss of the larger man's tight hole clenching around his pistoning shaft, Bellamy murmured senseless words of praise into the man's feverish skin. The contracting of muscle, shifting beneath dark skin as Eishrin begged with his body. Taking as much as he was giving. The absence of his hand replaced with the honeyed purr of pleasure that rumbled from deep within his chest.

A huff of amusement at the eager thrust of the larger man's hips chasing after withdrawing length. And who was it that said he wasn't eager?

What did it matter that it was never like this.

Never this urgent. Never this mindlessly needy. Never this violent. Painful. It was as if his very soul trembled; tripping and stumbling before plummeting into the sensation of it all. Clawing, inhaling, drawing it all in until the Wendigo became a brand on his soul. Carved himself so deep, he could never be cut out. Though one couldn't deny he very damn well tried to fuck away the Wendigo shaped brand that seared itself into the very fabric of his being: his muscles quivering, sweat prickling across his skin, the water sloshing up and around his waist, splashing up to hit his chest and chin.

The second time Eishrin drew him forward, his hand a clasping weight at the back of his neck, a nonverbal urging of more, Bellamy's own spirit echoed the plea. He bit down then, hips stuttering as he slowed his desperate rutting. Achingly slow, maddening. The bordering on gentle press and slide into the man's contracting channel a stark contrast to the violent clamping of his jaws into the crook where shoulder met neck. His mouth filled with the ambrosial perfection of his Guardian's blood. It flowed thick and warm over his tongue, past the press of his mouth, bright red rivulets staining his lips, chin, chest, dribbling down Eishrin's back, droplets slipping over the curve of his biteable rear, swirling pink into the thrashing water.

Never like this.

The answer came unbidden as Bellamy sucked harder guzzling by the mouthful. Lost in a thick fog of sex and blood. Of tight embrace and sweet sweet life force. His hips picked up speed, intensity. Sharp, brutal thrusts as his balls drew tighter and tension gathered along his spine. Pleasure climbed, electric in its intensity, a whorl of silver and gold, shame and need, desperation, a pleading denial. He felt it. Felt it as if it were all his own, and it was. But it wasn't. It was theirs. Colliding, transforming into a monstrous thing that neither could claim. It doubled, tripled, multiplied itself by an unquantifiable vastness that raked hot claws of deep loneliness and such wholeness through him that he was lost to it. On the periphery of his awareness, a sphere of the purest gold shone through the impenetrable darkness of his tightly shut eyes. A beastly growl brushed against his ear. The unmistakable feeling of being watched. Stalked. Hunted. So close, he could reach out and tou—

The building pleasure crashed over him with a suddenness that snatched the last whisper of breath from his lungs. Fractals of light scattered across his vision, and his body trembled. His hands clutched at Eishrin, hips, chest, abdomen, anyplace he could dig his claws in and anchor himself to the larger man as his cock pulsed spurt after spurt of hot cum into the man's squeezing channel. The wrecked groan that tore out of him cracked on a whimper that was pressed, muffled into Eishrin's shoulder.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

It should have been something grand that broke him. It should have been something extreme, something violent, something so raging that it would have felt like he was being consumed by a thousand suns. Eishrin was a man crafted from cruelty and shaped by ruthlessness. It should have taken something far, far more to have his mind finally fracturing, and his world turning into a kaleidoscope of colour.

All it took was the slow press of Ghost's shaft within his hole; a near-gentleness in the wake of the cruel rutting. Forced to feel every inch of that cream length glide through his channel. Made to feel every ridge, every bump, every spongy and swollen vein. Withdrawn until the last, plush inch of his shaft held Eishrin's quivering sphincter wide, when Ghost had rolled his hips forward to spear deep into body, Eishrin was left feeling everything all at once. As Ghost drew himself close, hilted within the Guardian draped over the edge of the pool, and left Eishrin's rigid abdomen to swell a little above his left hip, that had been Eishrin's final undoing.

Nothing else existed but them. No person, no space, not even time, itself, existed. Eishrin went blind with his madness as his heart stuttered, his body shivered, and his mind collapsed in on itself. He could feel everything and, yet, nothing besides his Ghost. Where they touched burned so hotly that it felt like a hot poker, a lick of fire, the smoulder of poison all at once. Eishrin could not make sense of where he was being held, nor what held him, only that it burned and it ached and it throbbed. Be it claws or tendrils, Eishrin registered no gentle pressure, too consumed by the heaviness lain within his belly, filled so very deeply.

It took only a second more before Eishrin dissolved into primal nature and pure instinct. To have, and to give. To fuck, and to please. He was consumed with nothing more than what his body demanded, and it demanded his Ghost. Unseeing, Eishrin's hand still clasped the nape of Ghost's neck, not registering how the silken threads of pale hair had become caught between the thick of his fingers. He lost all sense of his own body—unknowing how tight he gripped, how rough he yanked, and blind to anything committed against his flesh that did not come from Ghost, himself.

The shattered tile of the pool's edge had dug deep into his palm, split his skin, and left it bleeding; yet to heal. Eishrin, blind to it, shoved his hand among the sharp pieces and pressed himself upwards. Spine bent sharply, hips rolled and pressed backward until thick-muscled rear pillowed and bounced against narrow, cream hips. The small of Eishrin's back dimpled with the sharp arch of it, the enigma of a man drawn like a magnet to the man at his back. He contorted himself, with his arm held over his shoulder and the corded muscle at his bicep and forearm tensing hard as he drew Ghost's face closer, still.

With the shift in his lean, Eishrin now upright and curved backward, Ghost's long withdraw dragged heavily against the plush, front wall of Eishrin's channel. It ground hard against a place so very deep, that had his toes curling, his unseeing eyes fluttering closed, and a long moan leaving him. Upon the shattered tiles, Eishrin clawed at the floor, shoving his hips backwards as he so desperately chased Ghost's cock. He wanted to feel full, to feel plugged, and hated every second where Ghost did not make him bulge.

Those words, salacious and teasing, came but where never entirely registered. Eishrin had lost his comprehension, and his vocabulary, and held no sensible piece of his mind that would have been able to string something legible together. Ghost's tease received nothing but a hungry, backward thrust as response, Eishrin's rear clapping hard against milky thighs, sending the water sloshing between them.

Eishrin was no longer passive. He was driven, by furious need, towards a goal he didn't completely understand. All that Eishrin knew was that he needed more friction, more pain, more touches of Ghost's mouth, and he thrust himself, wantonly, backward upon swollen, alabaster cock.

In all of his years, sex had never been like this. In all the bodies he'd taken, trying to chase away the heat that had lashed at him from under his skin, it had not felt like this. What consumed Eishrin now—making him dizzy, making him senseless and blind and so very debauched—was something entirely unknown to him. Embraced, it was given utter rein over him, and Eishrin was not quiet in his pleasure.

A whimper stole from him as he pressed back onto Ghost, grinding the firm globes of his rear against the thick root of Ghost's shaft before rising and plunging back down. If he'd been sane, Eishrin would have realised that he'd begun to fuck himself upon Ghost's cock, but he was too lost to it all. A low snarl as he lifted, felt the plush tip nearly pop free, before it choked as he plunged himself backward, and rooted Ghost deeply. The water sloshed, burning. The steam was coaxed to churn, curling. The sounds of their fucking echoed about the chamber, uncaring of the ears it would reach and unashamed in whom watched on. Each swift thrust of his Keeper's hips was met with a backward shove of Eishrin's own; the need between them bleeding and mutual.

And as those sharp fangs pierced Eishrin's shoulder, he tipped back his head and moaned; velvet and wanton. The hand upon the back of Ghost's neck tugged harder, encouraging those teeth deeper, even as he felt the warm trickle of his blood spill across the slope of his shoulder, the arch of his back and dribble to pool within the curve of his collarbones.

The warmth that began to flow through his veins was something wholly different. Potent, it quickened his heart, pooled low in his loins, and saw the faintest tint of colour blush into his cheeks. Eishrin knew this feeling. It had been injected into him, artificially, more times than he cared to remember. More times than he could even possibly remember. But this, what flooded through him now as Ghost's sweet saliva mixed into his veins, was so incredibly intense it left Eishrin's mind floating in a high.

He could no longer tell what pleasure was his, and what was Ghost's that bled through their bond. A shiver tore through him, his hand raking through the tiles and shoving harder to press himself back against the cool of Ghost's body. The thick of his fingers slipped, cupping the back of Ghost's head and holding him tight to his shoulder as he felt his flesh rip beneath fangs. More. Eishrin wanted more.

With another, deeper plunge of that thick shaft, Eishrin was edging so very close. The heavy swell of his sack, the aching throb within his own fat shaft that had begun to pulse, heavy, all told that he was a man balancing upon a knife's edge. So close. So very close. The electricity that fired through his synapses and rushed through him felt so akin to every climax he'd had before and yet it wasn't entirely whole. It lashed at him, but felt like nothing. It felt meagre. It felt premature. It felt like something simple when there was a promise of something else, unknown.

It began like the universe.

A sudden explosion that shot outward. Energy thrust in every direction, chaotic and nearly violent. What was Eishrin's pleasure lashed outward, throwing itself into the dark weight he knew to be Ghost's mind. It grew, multiplying, until, suddenly, it all imploded. It rushed back in on itself, stealing Ghost's own pleasure with it. When it slammed into Eishrin, it did so right as the man inside him found his release; jolting Eishrin with such power that his eyes went wide up at the ceiling, his own hips stuttered, and his heart slammed against the phantom of Ghost's own within his chest.

Rope, after hot rope was released within him, as Ghost held himself tight to Eishrin's back and buried himself deep. It washed through Eishrin's clenching, quivering channel, as his sphincter tightened and trembled. The thick syrup of it warmed his belly, sloshing a little as Ghost thrust hard, punctuating his groan.

That climax that had been building within Eishrin finally crashed upon him; a tidal wave. It swallowed him whole, as he cried his Keeper's name, and shook. His hips jerked, driving wildly upon Ghost's pulsing shaft, churning the cum within his belly. The thick ebony of his own shaft throbbed, twitching with each rope of white seed that shot free. It grew milky within the water by his thighs, sloshing up against his skin.

Eishrin could no longer keep himself upright. He fell forward over the edge of the pool, bracing his fall with a forearm, while he drew Ghost with him. Together, they collapsed, a heaving, slick mess, as Eishrin rode the high that was their combined bliss, and the sweet poison of Ghost's venom. The sting of fangs still within his flesh had Eishrin wincing, his hand loosening a little within that fine hair to clasp the back of Ghost's neck.

With the ebb of his climax, but the continual swirl of that heat, Eishrin blinked as the world about him fell into focus. The torn and shattered tiles. The blood. The milky water by his hips. The blood over his chest. The thick shaft held deep within his body, holding open his tight hole, and the soft swell that told of the seed plugged within him.

Eishrin's blood ran cold.

"Fuck…"

He tried to push himself up, his grip snatched from the back of Ghost's neck to instead shove at his hip. What was that? What the fucking hell was that?! He'd lost all inhibitions, every sense and every piece that had been his rebellion and revulsion. Eishrin felt a wave hit him and it was unlike the last. This one was sour, was bitter, and was laced with confusion.

"Ghost." The name was snarled, Eishrin holding himself rigid where he'd once moved so graceful and fluid. "Remove yourself from me." He couldn't bring himself to move. Eishrin couldn't bring himself to pull himself forward, fearing that Ghost would simply chase him and bury that spilt seed deeper. What the fuck have I done?

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

Bellamy didn't know where he started and where Eishrin began. The world was a warm, fluffy light that stripped him of vision, thought, and reason beyond the ricocheting pleasure that swallowed its own tail. An endless loop he floated upon. His chest vibrated with a low purring hum. The sudden sensation of falling causing him to cling onto Eishrin tighter, afraid of the other slipping away from him too soon. Distantly, a cold flush panic tumbled towards his blissed out consciousness and he shoved it away. Didn't care for it. Not then. He just wanted to sleep now.

The warm body beneath him grew rigid, a hand at his hip attempting to dislodge him and he whined into Eishrin's skin, arms tensing as he squeezed tighter.

Stay here a little longer.

He did lift his head slightly, withdrawing fangs from the angry raw wound of the man's shoulder, that continued to weep red. "No," his voice came slow and drawn out, "Not yet." And he'd have been content to remain as they were for an indeterminate length of time.

A little longer.

Only Eishrin's demand to remove himself forced Bellamy's consciousness to resurface, slow and sticky and with great effort. He blinked, slowly, as the world came back into focus. His senses returning to him one at a time.

In increments, he loosened his grip on the other, claws withdrawing as the soft pads of his fingers smeared blood down the hard planes of Eishrin's tense abdomen, pausing to press against the soft swell of the man's stomach where he remained filled with his Keeper's seed.

His own body heavy and weighted with an orgasm that defied reason, Bellamy licked at his lips, willing himself to move. And move he did, giving into the aching need with a lazy roll of his hips. His cock twitched, half hard as he slowly withdrew—though not completely—from the constricting grip of the man's hole, now slippery slick with release. Peeling himself from Eishrin's back, his eyes dropped to where their hips met as he fucked into the man, slowly, once, twice, captivated with watching his shaft slide inch by infuriating inch into Eishrin's body.

"Such a greedy hole." A breathless huff of amusement, thick barely sated arousal. It was startlingly easy to lose himself to it, to lose himself to sensation. Now that that gnawing beast of primal need was soothed, he could take his time. Fuck his Guardian for the simple pleasure of claiming the man's body. Driven by nothing more than his own hedonistic desires.

But he slipped free of Eishrin's body with a stifled sigh, pale eyes drawing across the taut lines of his Guardian's rigid form.

You try to run, you won't make it very far.

Turning away from Eishrin, he made his way to the stone stairs where Jesper stood waiting at the top. Still feeling somewhat outside of his body, he shrugged into the bone white fluffy bathrobe the Guardian held open for him as he turned to observe Eishrin in thoughtful silence. Gentle fingers gathered up his hair and rang water from the dripping strands.

"Should I…" Jesper's hoarse whisper broke his concentration. Bellamy turned, causing Jesper’s hands to fall away.

He was a kicked pup, cheeks streaked with tears that continued to pool in amber gaze, clinging to his fiery coloured lashes.

"He stays with me."

As if he could be hurt any further than he already was, Jesper's expression splintered and for a moment, Bellamy wondered if he'd collapse to his knees from the weight of it. But the Guardian only nodded, bowing low before retreating. Sparing a parting, scathing glance in Eishrin's direction before making himself scarce.

Wet bare feet slapped across the tiles as Bellamy rounded the perimeter of the heated bath, the steam curling thick and fragrant over its surface as if it hadn't been disturbed in their feral rutting.

"You'll sleep with me tonight. Rest now, existential crisis later, hmm?"

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

There were no words to describe it. The world had been kept from Eishrin, concealed behind a hazy curtain that he hadn't been able to breach. His senses had become dull to the outside world and, instead, turned sharply into himself. Too aware of everything within him, Eishrin had appeared more like a dazed creature, than a sane man. The pain had only intensified, growing too great, and it had seen more of the hazy world slipping away.

What struck him now, as he remained bent over the crumbled edge of the pool with his breaths shallow and quick, was ice-cold clarity. That scorching, hellish fire had fallen away, when Eishrin had been too consumed by the pleasure and the sharp sting of pain as he was taken. Its absence wasn't noted, Eishrin too high on the bliss, until his dark eyes had snapped open and he'd seen the space about him as if for the first time.

Everything was sharper, clearer. He noted the scent of a young man off to the side, lingering. A Guardian, but one unbonded. The salt of tears was unmistakeable, as was the like of shameful arousal that was neither Eishrin's own nor his Ghost's. The soft trill of the young man's heart was there within Eishrin's ears, just as the hauntingly slow beat of Ghost's own remained within both Eishrin's mind and his chest. These things did not crash into him with the same brutality as his realisation of what he'd just committed with the man so lazily draped over his back.

I've let him inside me. I begged for it. Eishrin squeezed his eyes closed, sinking his teeth into the inside of his cheek until it split and bled. He sought the pain, as he'd done earlier but been refused, for it was the only way he knew how to ground himself.

Guilt. Shame. They were cousins of feelings and swirled thickly through Eishrin as he held himself still. He shouldn't have done what he did. He shouldn't have moaned, shouldn't have begged, shouldn't have so eagerly drove himself backward and met each of Ghost's hard thrusts; fucking himself upon the pale cock buried so deeply in a place once so virginal. Eishrin should have fought harder. Should have killed the Keeper, his own life be damned. He should have—

A little whine against the skin of his shoulder and the wrap of lean arms about his middle had Eishrin's heart stuttering. Tender, almost, if this entire thing between them wasn't so monstrously wrong. Ghost, in all of their encounters, had been so coldly callous. Calculating, sharp, with words always tainted with poison. There was not a single gentle nor tender thing about him, and the sound that slipped free, paired with the words Ghost pushed into Eishrin's mind, had the Wendigo wondering if he wasn't the only one driven mad by what had just happened.

The hand at Ghost's hip became a little less insistent. Instead, Eishrin curled his fingers into smooth, milky flesh and squeezed; wishing that he could have shifted those blunt nails into claws and watched the poison of Ghost's blood trickle over alabaster skin. Not yet, Ghost had demanded, and Eishrin nearly conceded. Disgusted at himself for what he had done, the smallest, darkest piece of himself yearned to keep their bodies flush, his hole full, and their warmth shared. Wrong. So very wrong. But felt nonetheless.

Ghost withdrew his fangs and it had Eishrin hissing a breath through his clenched teeth. It stung, those puncture wounds, but the lavish heat that swirled through his veins remained. Eishrin's orgasm was over, but something so very similar still warmed his blood; like the blanketing warmth of the sweetest drug.

For what felt like forever, Eishrin was sure his Ghost would not move. Perhaps, tangled as they were, they'd remain within the pool until the end of time. They'd perish together, bound and entwined. The sweep of a cool hand over his chest to settle over the soft swell of his abdomen tore Eishrin from whatever calm had captured him. Ghost, the monster that he was, pressed his palm in against the subtle bulge and a growl rumbled low in Eishrin's throat.

Was Ghost's intention to humiliate him? Because that was what saw the slight colour in his cheeks turn a little more ruddy; barely visible across the ebony of his smooth skin. Humiliation, as he felt the shift of that cum within him, held high by the cock that remained plugged within him. It was tainted by the electric ripple of pleasure as he felt Ghost draw himself free, to the very last inch, before sliding himself deeper.

"Hmmnn…" Eishrin groaned, pressing his face back to the corded muscle of his forearm, laid across the shattered tile. Back arched, the thick ropes of muscle beneath ebony skin tensed.

Eishrin became rigid, holding himself stiffly, as if he couldn't bring himself to relax out of fear of how he'd so keenly press backward. That was precisely why, even if it was only subconscious. For the withdraw of Ghost's length had his warm seed weeping through Eishrin's channel before being smeared and pressed deeper, once more. Slow, it was no longer a ruthless fucking, but a reminder of how well Eishrin's body had taken his Keeper, and how his channel was stained with the proof of it.

The loss of Ghost's body heat across his back felt like a lash of cold. It had the hand upon his Keeper's hip squeezing, but not drawing him close or away. Eishrin simply held him, his thick fingers dimpling cream flesh, as he felt the flex of those lean muscles as Ghost moved slowly; fucking lazily into him. Eishrin wanted it to stop. He wanted this to be over with. But when Ghost spoke bemusedly, a heat flushed through Eishrin, settling deep at his groin within the thick of a half-hard shaft.

Ghost pulled himself free, and Eishrin had to sink his teeth into his lower lip to keep himself from moaning. The sound was debauched, the soft squelch licking at his ears. There came a single second where Eishrin felt the tight pucker of his hole quiver, winking at Ghost, before it began to tighten. It wasn't quick enough to keep himself from weeping Ghost's seed. The pearlescent white of it drooled free, falling in a stream over the swell of his dark sack before mixing with the water. Eishrin, swearing beneath his breath, clenched hard. Is it better to wash it out? Should I leave it?

Eishrin let out a huff as he fell to the side upon the ledge, sitting for the first time. Where Ghost's claws had sunken into the globe of his rear stung, but the pain was welcomed, oddly. It gave him something else to think about than how he felt his hole quiver, seed slipping free, and how he'd felt it slosh a little when he'd rolled to sit.

Ghost had left him, drawing himself out of the pool, and Eishrin was grateful for the distance. He swept a wet hand over his face and leant back against the cracked tile, letting out a shaky breath as he stared down at the surface of the water. What transpired between Ghost and the other Guardian wasn't entirely caught, but Eishrin's eyes did sweep to their corners as he followed the man's sudden retreat. He wondered how many times that Guardian had been rutted by Ghost, and wondered why he felt a sudden stab of envy.

"Fucking insane." That's what it all was. Not a single thing had gone according to Eishrin's plan or will, and he was suffering for it. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Eishrin let his head fall back and his eyes close. He felt where his Ghost lingered—a string between them forever pulling—and felt his sudden approach. Eishrin kept his eyes closed, even as he felt Ghost draw near and stand over him, and even as he spoke.

Existential crisis, indeed. The very mention of it probed the proverbial beast, and it flared a little too hotly within him. Those dark eyes snapped open, cast upwards in a sharp glare, as he looked to the Keeper standing over him.

"Sent your pet to his kennel?" Eishrin meant that redhead. He meant the young Guardian who, so very clearly, saw Ghost as his own—as if having a Keeper was something to aspire for. "You think he won't try something again after you made him watch that?" 'That' not 'us', because if Eishrin spoke it aloud, he'd dissolve into dread and panic; the two brewing so very close under the surface. "I'm not going to be nice if he comes at me again."

From how he was leaning, Eishrin's throat was curved and bare. The throb at the juncture between neck and shoulder had settled some, but flared as he set both elbows atop the pool's crumbled edge. Ghost spoke of rest, but another question bubbled within Eishrin. And beyond tonight? I sleep with you tonight, but what then? Eishrin didn’t dare speak them out loud, instead sighing a little through his nose.

"The pain is gone," he said a little lowly. Dark eyes searched icy pale, as if the answers were there within those glacier-gems. "Why?"

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

Ignoring the dark glare turned up at him upon his approach, Bellamy simply raised a pale brow at the mention Jesper. “You still have my seed leaking out of you and your thoughts are on the pup?” He tilted his head, “If he does come after you again, perhaps I’ll have you fuck the fight out of him.” His pale gaze dropped to the arch of Eishrin’s bared throat, a slight twitch catching at the corner of his mouth. The man appeared woefully unaware of how he presented himself: the nonverbal offering that spoke louder than words ever could. Bellamy clasped his hands behind his back, his skin flushing with the sudden feverish need to cradle the man’s head in his lap as he bit angry marks into his bared skin.

The mention the pain having gone away snapped him to the moment and he inhaled, slow and deep through his nose. Mouth instantly watering at the sticky spiced scent of their mixed released thick on the already choking steam of the room. Senses muddled and mind heavy with fog, he met those searching eyes, his expression impassive. “You came begging for relief and I gave it to you.”

“A little gratitude is not beneath you, surely.” Standing over the other man, he had an infinite amount of patience when it came to waiting for Eishrin to dig up what pitiful excuse for manners the man surely had buried somewhere within himself.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

It erupted so suddenly into his mind that it came paired with a heartbeat; barely sheltered from slipping across the ether that connected their consciousness. I no longer care to fuck anyone besides you.

That had become Eishrin's truth well before this—having consumed him for the last several weeks when he'd try to find relief in the dozens of blonde, pale bodies. Eishrin had sought the warmth and touch from those that appeared ghostly, like his Keeper, but it hadn't been out of choice. He realised why none of them had felt right, and why none of them had felt good enough. Because they weren't him. Only Ghost would ever be good enough, and that thought alone pissed Eishrin off.

The Wendigo's shoulders bunched, his elbows sliding a little further across the tile as he sank some within the water, and let an exasperated huff leave him. Dark eyes, having returned to their deep colourless shade of obsidian, narrowed a little with the formation of a frown. No longer a glare, but a slight pinch between dark brows as he watched Ghost's own gaze slide slowly lower before they flickered up and met Eishrin's once more. Was he wrong to think that something had swirled thickly within that icy gaze? Something he didn't want to name, let alone to acknowledge?

Eishrin didn't need to be reminded that he'd begged, more than once, from the relief of that agony. An insidious part of him wondered what Ghost would have done, if he'd been the one to experience the soul-tearing, bone-shattering, ungodly pain. He wondered if he'd have lasted as long. He wondered whether Ghost would, too, come begging for relief. Eishrin had cracked beneath it, but would Ghost fair any better? Eishrin wanted to snarl at the cockiness of Ghost's request for gratitude.

"I wasn't asking why you helped," Eishrin bit. "I was asking why it was there at all. Why the pain has faded after we—" fucked. He couldn't quite bring himself to say it, because it didn't carry the same light weight as it did all the other times he'd said it. This time, the sex was different. He'd begged for relief, yes, but Eishrin hadn't wanted that. He hadn't wanted Ghost to take claim to his body, to be the first to pierce his hole and drive himself deep. And, yet, in the midst of it, that was precisely what Eishrin had yearned for, and more.

Swallowing, Eishrin's eyes closed and he leant a little to the side. A hand rose from the steaming water and swept down over his face, a low grumble leaving him before he set that elbow back atop the ledge. When Eishrin looked up to his Ghost, he did so with dissociative calm. "I was asking why the agony is gone."

That small admittance was too much already. In that sentence, alone, Eishrin confessed that he was not knowledgeable of that part of his person. What other pieces of his nature did Eishrin not understand? What other parts had been kept from him; held away with intention? The Seekers, it seemed, chose what they taught the Guardians within their forces, and also chose what they kept from them.

Perhaps the only thing keeping Eishrin from dissolving into shame-fuelled rage was the warm flush of Ghost's lingering venom, and how it soothed the ache within his tense body better than the soft lap of hot water. It kept him mellow enough that, looking upside-down at Ghost from below, he was consumed with the wonder of how something so beautiful could be so ruthlessly evil, instead of his usual plotting for violence.

Thank you.

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

"I'm aware of what you were asking." And noted with a rising bubble of amusement was the word Eishrin couldn't bring himself to say. If Bellamy hadn't been a recipient of Eishrin's pleasure; if he hadn't experienced it as if it were his own, he might've convinced himself the man had hated it. Oh, he hated it now, the thought of it perhaps, now that his mind was returning to him. And the man wasn't shy. He hadn't presented a self-conscious bone in his body since their first meeting, if anything he'd been unabashedly forward, aggressive even—one might say—with the filth that dripped with venomous intent from his lips. Was his hatred of Keepers really so deep? Or was it Bellamy himself, the Guardian couldn't stand? The latter of which brought a private smile to his mouth. Good. Easier that way.

There was no love lost there. He wasn't this man's friend. Didn't want to be. The Wendigo served a purpose. And once that purpose had been fulfilled, Bellamy was free to rid himself of the nuisance, discard the mental intrusion that was the other man.

"I'm not your guide, Eishrin, it's not my job to teach you what you should already know. Perhaps, your fellow Guardians will enlighten your ignorance." He pursed his lips on a thoughtful pause, "Though given your reputation… only time will tell."

The words of gratitude were met with stony silence, pale eyes considering the other man for a long moment, before he turned away without so much as an acknowledgement. "There's no need to clean up, you'll come as you are."

He paused with his hand settled atop the large brass doorknob, glancing back over his shoulder, "Now shall we?"

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

Eishrin waited with bated breath. It was foolish to hope for an answer, to believe that Ghost would grant him a clue. It should have come as no surprise when Ghost, instead, mocked him. Yet, those words formed something incredibly bitter within Eishrin's throat and he clenched his teeth harshly together until he felt them grind. What a fool I am to think that he'd give me that. It was hopeful, it was naive, and it was so very stupid. Nothing had changed. They were just as they were before. Not even the mellowness of the venom within his blood could keep that new flare of rage from him.

Still, Eishrin could not deny what he felt. If it did not come from Ghost, he did not want it. He would rather remain a fool, would rather remain naive and blind, than to be given something from another. Eishrin didn't want knowledge, didn't want attention, didn't want proximity or any-fucking-thing else if it did not come from Ghost. Perhaps it was that reason, alone, which made Ghost's easy and quick dismissal sting as deeply as it did.

As dark eyes tracked the fluffy robe Ghost had donned, the Keeper's back turned to him, Eishrin let out a sound that was half exasperated huff and half stubborn growl. Tilting his head to the side, he let his gaze be pulled towards the door, following Ghost's every graceful step. I just want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you. Is that asking too much, for gods sake?

He had half the mind to refuse Ghost's summoning, watching as that cream hand lay over the brass knob of the door. What worse could there be than what Ghost had already committed upon him? Within him?

As Eishrin shoved himself away from the edge of the pool, he drew through the water, the trim of his waist carving through the thick swirl of steam, before he stalked up the ramp and onto the tile. He made no move towards the towels by the showers, nor any attempt to wring the water from his hair. The water streamed from him, left behind in puddles and wet footsteps, as Eishrin cut towards Ghost; seemingly unbothered. Whomever came in after them could slip on his mess and bathe in their spilt seed, for all he cared. Ghost had told him to come as he was, and so he did; standing over Ghost as the water wept over the ebony of his skin, forming a pool by his feet. Malicious compliance.

What seethed within those dark eyes was far more hotter than before. Yet, as he stood there, Eishrin felt the pooling weight of Ghost's seed against his sphincter. The presence of it had him clenching hard, unwilling to stand beneath that icy gaze and let it drool free of his hole onto the floor. Instead, he clenched hard and fought to keep it within his body, his glare dark.

A hard bang at the door had Eishrin's eyes pulling from Ghost's face.

"Hey! I know you're in there, dickhead." A rough, slightly feminine voice was calling through the gap between the door and the jam. "I've flown twenty hours to see your pretty face because I missed you but also because a little bird told me you were going to go and—"

Eishrin had captured Ghost's hand, taking the man's knuckles and the brass knob beneath in a tight grasp before turning it. The door was torn open, Eishrin having stepped in behind Ghost; not out of shame, not out of subservience, but posturing himself as his obsidian eyes glared cruelly over the top of fair, blonde head.

Within the doorway, her tattooed fist high mid-knock, none other than Cerise stood before them. Her almond eyes, down-sloped, were half hidden behind fashion, red-lensed glasses. Her bangs were cut short, higher than her brows, and two small braids framed the sides of her round face. Etched into her somewhat soft features was what seemed a near-permanent look of displeasure as her dark eyes lifted first to Eishrin's shadowed face, before falling down to Bellamy's.

A laugh left her, hoarse, as she reached out and pet Bellamy twice on his shoulder. "You fucking did it, you freak."

Eishrin had gone rigid. The scent of another Keeper had never been pungent, but it was now. From within the corridor and within the rooms beyond, he smelt them all, and it was repulsive. His upper lip quivered, the beginnings of a snarl, before he tried to close the door in the Keeper's face.

Cerise, however, had other plans and set her Doc Martin boot in the door jam. "Mm, no." She offered a small smile to Bellamy; the two of them the same height, and equally as pale. With a little nod to the Guardian towering over her best friend, Cerise smirked. "Who's your big boy?"

Eishrin felt the first little drool down the inside of his thigh. A touch to a robed elbow. "Ghost."

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

Disappointment appeared as a bitter after taste at the back of his mouth, and the smoky tinge of rage that chased after it had Bellamy tilting his head, unable to name the exact cause for it. But he was certain that it wasn't his own and that earned Eishrin a raised brow. A touch of confusion swimming just beyond icy detachment. And there, is where it was left. Bellamy didn't care to dig for an answer. The space taking on a sudden suffocating sense of claustrophobia and he turned away, needing distance. Needing to be anywhere but trapped the thick aura of their combined madness.

His hand upon the doorknob, he forced himself to breathe, to wait for Eishrin to move along. And against his better judgement, he turned just enough to watch as the man stepped out of the water. Unable to settle on whether to be amused or annoyed that he was being a stubborn shit, creating a spreading with every step he took as he closed the distance between them.

Bellamy's heart gave a foolish skip or three as he was forced to tip his head to maintain eye contact as Eishrin ignored any sense of personal space.

Holding that obsidian gaze, a knowing formed but he said nothing. They stood close enough that Bellamy needed only to lean the slightest bit forward to lick at the beads of water that clung and dripped off the taller man's skin.

You should try to relax. The difficult bit has pas—

The sudden bang on the door had Bellamy's gaze jerking towards the interruption. The sudden fury that welled beneath his skin extinguished any sense of comprehension at the familiar voice on the other side. And then Eishrin's large hand was completely covering his own and wrenching the door open.

Seeing Cerise, he stared blankly for a beat. "Ceri." A quick mental calculation confirmed he wasn't expecting to see her for another month, at least. Still, his eyes brightened considerably and his smile came easy. A drop of water plopped atop his head and he rocked back on his heels, attempting to push Eishrin back a step or two. But the man was an immovable wall of flesh and heat at his back. A water that dripped onto him.

He batted at Cerise's patting hand, "Don't sound so surprised. Almost fucking died and I've yet to decide if it was worth all the trouble." He was practically beaming, near buzzing with pride in spite of his words. He'd been excited to break the news to Cerise, but had refused to make a premature claim before the bond had been consummated. He was going to have Max's head for ruining his surprise.

His back vibrated with the start of a snarl that wasn't his, and his arm with the hand still trapped beneath Eishrin's own, tensed in the same instance that Cerise well times boot thwarted Eishrin's insolent attempt to slam the door in his face.

"You'll have to forgive his insolence. He has no house-training." He didn't appear as if it was something that truly bothered him. Ignoring the touch to his elbow, he rolled his eyes at his dearest friend; a nonverbal shrug of ‘you see what I have to deal with’. Aloud to Eishrin, "Unless the next words out of your mouth are an introduction, I don't care to hear anything from you."

To Cerise, "You've changed your hair," he reached out and flicked at her bangs, "Suits you. I approve."

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

The difficult part. As if the absence of the agony had not been replaced with something just as festering and as ugly. Together, they had come crashing; a gravity between them that had seen them colliding with teeth and claw and flesh. It had been Eishrin whom had been bent over, left to suffer the unwanted pleasure that had rushed through him in waves. He'd been bent over, his body pried apart by wicked tendrils, only to be claimed and filled by his Ghost. Just as they had come, their release crashing through them together, it had left only one of them with a deep-rooted ache. A need for more.

Eishrin, as he held himself against the fluff of Ghost's bathrobe, felt that insidious throb within his very marrow. Ghost had taken a piece of him, as if holding his soul was not enough, but the venom of their coupling had festered in ways Eishrin could not have anticipated. He hated him. He hated everything that was Ghost and Ghost, himself. Yet, as his hand cupped the back of an elbow, a Keeper having reached out to touch Ghost's shoulder in a familiar pet, Eishrin had felt nothing but noxious possessiveness flare. His move to slam the door had been an attempt to seal them both inside; this humid, foggy place a world where it was only he and his Ghost.

Wrong, it was, but Eishrin could not deny it.

Cerise, the narrow almond of her eyes having left Eishrin long ago, was grinning at her friend. "You? Nearly dying? Impossible." It had been those unworthy of Bellamy that had perished violently; unable to take his venom, or unable, even, to hold Bellamy's attention. She didn't look up into the shadowy face of Bellamy's Guardian, knowing she'd find a sharp glare there waiting for her; as if he could melt her with only a look. Amusing, it was. Even more amusing in how such a creature so beastly was gently handling Bellamy's elbow. "I'm sure it is. Besides, if not, you can always start afresh."

The attempt to shut the door in her face wasn't quite enough to offend her. Cerise's time abroad had been spent in territories where Keepers mixed far more deeply with mortals than they did within this city, and she'd received treatment far worse. They'd ended in blood, and in gore, but this? This insolence had Cerise looking up over the fine blonde of Bellamy's hair to the beast that towered above them both. There was something there within those dark eyes that she could almost name. Was it jealousy? Was it possessiveness which had had prompted his attempt to seal himself back inside with his Keeper? Interesting, Cerise mused to herself for the second time.

The shrug of a shoulder she offered her childhood friend was small and half-hearted as she pulled her eyes down from the Guardian's face. "Too busy consummating the bond to teach him manners then?" Cerise's dark eyes glimmered. "Was he a good fuck, at least?"

Another snarl bubbled up within Eishrin's chest, and the hand upon Ghost's elbow grew a fraction too tight. Fingers curled over Ghost's other hip, tugging a little to draw him back into the heat of Eishrin's body. Mine, his posturing almost seemed to say. Eishrin, that rage beginning to return, opened that channel between their minds to shove his noxious anger down at Ghost, but was rendered momentarily quiet. Ghost belittled him, did so in front of company, and that clawed deep under Eishrin's skin.

And what would you have me say? My name? That I am yours? That I am no-one and nothing, 'please ignore me'?

Did Eishrin's name even matter anymore? What purpose did an introduction hold when he was just meat, brawn, and expendable? He'd tried to be gentle, the pull at Ghost's elbow just enough to earn his brief attention. Whatever they'd shared back there within the pool had to have meant something. How else could Eishrin allow himself to feel sane, when he'd fallen into the madness weeks ago?

I am many things, Ghost, but I am no bitch.

From where he'd pressed himself flush to Ghost's back, Eishrin peeled away. He cared little for the consequence, and turned his back upon them both. Towels were set by the showers, dry and as fluffy as Ghost's robe, and Eishrin snatched one up to begin drying the remnants of the pool water from the ebony of his skin. He gave them both his back, uncaring for his insolence that he, no doubt, would earn punishment for.

Cerise, watching it all, arched a dark brow. "Not so demure, then," she commented upon Eishrin's sudden departure and the way he positioned himself away from them. "Your brother didn't tell me much besides that you managed to 'bag the un-baggable'. Is he…?"

Her question was implied. They all knew of the Guardian that had been hunting his own, and those of their kin whom were foolish. The supposed 'legend' of a Guardian corrupted by the Seekers, used as a weapon, brainwashed against his own, was well known. There was only one person both stupid and bold enough to risk everything to try and bond with a rabid beast such as that.

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

Bellamy’s shoulders lifted, unconcerned at his friend's proclamation, “Death loves to nip at the heels of even the best of us from time to time.” Though the word—impossible—caused a root of unease to spread through his chest. An unscratchable itch he couldn’t reach. Impossible. The very situation he found himself in, the events and discoveries leading to it should have been impossible, but here they stood.

A slow, grim smile that avoided his eyes completely, touched a corner of his mouth, “I’ve grown quite bored of starting afresh, this will be the last one.” The Guardian that'd came before Eishrin—unlucky bastard that one had been—should have been the last one, much to Yvain’s sighs of disappointment and their uncle’s annoyance, but Yvain was now dead and Henri had seized power the moment the opportunity presented, forcing Bellamy to make unsavory decisions. And he was now, once again, unwillingly bonded. There was nothing he could do about it, save kill his uncle.

If only it were so simple.

Cerise’s mention of Eishrin’s lack of social etiquette prompted an eye roll from Bellamy, “While I enjoy a challenge, I deduce he is neither a willing nor easy student, and if we broke him. He wouldn’t be much fun anymore.” His pale eyes glittered with a dark sort of glee, “Wilfully stubborn, but oh so eager. He didn’t disappoint.” And that was as much praise as Eishrin would receive on the matter. A low chuckle, “I’d offer you a sampling if he were to your tastes, but alas, my word is all you have.”

In spite of both the internal and external rigidity and blatant distance Bellamy had erected between them upon exiting the heated pools, his body melted back with unsettling ease against Eishrin’s chest when the man’s fingers drew at his hip. It was a horrible sensation: The want to be close and stay close. But worst of all, he hated the instinctual possessiveness and urge to show off the other man.

Eishrin’s wilful ignorance earned no response. Didn’t deserve one. If the man wanted to play the fool, then so be it. To Cerise, “And you’d think a good fuck would dull those sharpened edges, hmm.”

How right you are. A bitch at least knows how to greet guests.

And just as suddenly Eishrin pulled away, taking the heat and stability of his solid presence with him. His back cold, Bellamy rolled his shoulders with a huff of amusement, “Demure, he is not.” Exasperation quickly followed, “Fucking Max, I’ll feed him his own tongue one day.” Muttered under his breath as he shifted slightly to the left, pale gaze tracing Eishrin’s movements as he dragged the towel over his skin. Cerise's unasked question lingered on the periphery as his eyes caught and held on the drooling line of seed down the inside of Eishrin’s thigh. Arousal flared through him, hot and sharp in its suddenness and he let the heat-wave crash across their bond.

You’ve missed a spot.

“He is.” Returning his gaze to Cerise, he grinned, “Was nearly gutted for the trouble. As far as my uncle and the public are concerned, we’re not bonded.” The implication of that admission was punctuated with a slow rise of a pale brow as he watched his longest friend closely. He didn’t need to ask if he could trust her. “How long will you be staying? I take it your favourite room was up to standard.”

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

The last one. Cerise, pressing her long-nailed pinky to the wire of her glasses to slide them a little further up the narrow bridge of her nose, considered the implications of such a declaration. She did not need to ask if Bellamy had bonded with the Guardian who slipped away, moving to stand by the showers as he plucked up a towel. The steam that rolled from the humid room carried with it the subtlety of sex, and the scent that came to her from Bellamy's skin was tainted by something spiced like clove. Already, they were beginning to imprint, and Cerise wondered whether Bellamy found it distasteful that she could smell it.

As she gave a small smile that did not reach the obsidian of her eyes, she hoped, for her dearest friend, that his ebony Guardian would, indeed, be the last and that there'd be no need to consider another. Cerise hoped, also, that the mythos surrounding Bellamy's Guardian held true; a beast, forgotten by Death.

Distant, Eishrin worked the fluff of the white towel over his face and the dripping locks of his dark hair. Tried as he might to ignore the conversation at the door out of disinterest, he found himself clinging to each one of Ghost's words. Each pause, and Eishrin drew tense. Every careful selection of word and the stringing together of a double-edged sentence, and Eishrin drank it deeply.

'The last': so there'd been another. '…wouldn't be much fun': so he liked a challenge. 'He didn't disappoint': so Bellamy had found true pleasure deep within Eishrin's heat, not just a result necessitated by a biological response to coupling. The last little piece had Eishrin's working of the towel down over his chest pause for the briefest of moments, before he grit his teeth with a scowl and continued on. That flare of satisfaction at knowing he wasn't alone in his forced bliss was snuffed out in favour of familiar spite.

Cerise laughed, the corners of her almond eyes crinkling some with her mirth. "Considerate of you," she grinned, "but I'd have to pass." For Cerise's own interest lay within those with softer, feminine forms. A glance towards the bitter beast, and she hummed. There was beauty to him, she supposed, but nothing alluring as there was within the female form—supple, tender, so heavenly soft.

Dark eyes slid back to icy blue, and she quirked an eyebrow. "Perhaps he needs another. I know that my Orielle needed me to fuck her twice before she settled." And what a delight it had been, taking that sweet Guardian for the first time, only for her to battle the bond and crumble into something even more delicious the second time Cerise had pressed tongue and finger into slit. There was nothing, Cerise believed, like the first few fucks of a newly established bond.

Eishrin felt the eyes upon him, but did not grant them the satisfaction of a glance. He could not have cared less. What was there to modesty when he'd been defiled by his Ghost in such a way? There was nothing left to take, and Eishrin didn't shield the naked of his form from view as he lifted a foot upon the stone bench to dry down the bulky muscle of a thigh. The slow weep of hot liquid tracked down the inside of the other, and Eishrin stiffened. A heartbeat later, and his Ghost's voice wormed its way inside his head; paired with the hot flash of arousal that muddied with the lingering of Eishrin's own. He ignored both.

He did not lower his foot. He did not cover the globes of his rear with the white towel. Eishrin knew the depravity of his Ghost went further than what had been inflicted within the scorching waters of the pool. Would it not be better for Eishrin to taste Ghost's seed on his own terms?

The muscle of Eishrin's back rippled beneath ebony skin, tensing as the man swept an arm back and reached over his ass to draw the pad of a forefinger beneath the drooling river. He caught the seed upon the dark of his digit, smeared it high towards the cleft of his rear, before stealing it away to draw it up to his face. Sticky, Eishrin ground the droplet between his forefinger and the pad of a thumb, watching as it clung to his skin like a web before snapping. It smelt of him, of his Ghost, but also of himself, and Eishrin hesitated a moment before he pressed that wet finger between his lips.

Quick, Eishrin made no show of his sampling; for he did not care for who watched. It was curiosity and the knowledge that Ghost would likely make him drink from his cock that had Eishrin sweeping his tongue over the digit and tasting his Ghost. Salted, perhaps a little honeyed, it was nicer than Eishrin had believed.

The rest of the drooling seed was suddenly wiped up from his skin by the towel, as Eishrin continued on like before; methodical, efficient, until he wrapped another clean towel over his hips and tucked the corner in for it to stay.

As he'd turned to face Ghost and his companion as he'd tied the towel, a glimpse of glittering gold had caught the light. To be bonded meant that a Guardian was to wear an enchanted collar, but the Wendigo's throat was bare. It was then, as that gold flash caught Cerise's eye, that she understood. She looked to Bellamy, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. You sly fucking devil. She, of course, would not say a thing.

"About a week," she finally replied. "This was an impromptu decision, so I have things I need to return to. I should be able to return for a greater length of time soon." A shrug. "Up to standard, I suppose. The thing about getting older is that what you remember and the reality of it don't often match up. I could have sworn that that room was as big as three."

Cerise stuffed her hands into her pockets and took a half-step sideways. "What're you planning to do with your evening? I have half the mind to go rile up your brother."

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

The silence that followed his declaration spoke more than any words ever could, and that empty smile from Cerise continued to add volumes to her silence. He did not wish to know her opinion on his lack of interest in always and forever being bound to a Guardian. It was unheard of for a Keeper not to be bonded to a Guardian; while a little commonplace for those Keepers of lower rank to not be bonded, Bellamy did not have the luxury of such a choice. Not any longer. There was no avoiding the glances and whispers, the gossip and vicious rumors that spread like wildfire, and how it made him look weak. Now, more than any other time, he could not afford to look weak.

There was no surprise as to Cerise’s denial of his offer. He knew where her tastes lay, “I expected as much. Yet, the offer remains if you were ever curious to know what the elusive Wendigo’s blood tastes like.”

"Oh, he does.” Bellamy chuckled with a shake of his head. “But, it will take more than a fuck or three to settle the fury in that one." And he had not the slightest complaint about it. With Jesper, he'd only to order the Guardian to kneel, and he was ready to roll over and show his belly. For those who preferred their Guardians perfectly docile and obedient, who would jump no matter how high, the untried Guardian would please such Keeper, but as far as where his position with Bellamy was concerned, Jesper had been a distraction, a temporary object to release his frustrations. And now that Eishrin had come to him, Jesper was nothing more than an afterthought. A persistent presence inching dangerously into more of a nuisance than he was worth. If anything, he was even more an object to be utilized to achieve a means to an end. To what end? That remained to be seen. Watch and wait. It was only a matter of time before Jesper did something foolish in the name of laying claim to 'his' Keeper. Curious as to how far the Guardian would push was the main motivator for continuing to keep him around. None of which he bothered to speak aloud.

He nodded with a hum of understanding. The world had appeared impossibly colossal when they’d been young Keepers, clumsy in their abilities.

The inquiry into how he intended to spend his evening was answered with a pointed glance in the direction of the silent sentinel of a Guardian behind him before he looked back to his old friend, "Does one really need to ask." Silent laughter danced in his eyes. "And you have my blessing to fuck with Max to your heart's delight, the bastard deserves nothing less.” He moved to step around her, reaching out to loop his arm through hers as he did, “Walk with me, we’re going the same way.”

They would have to pass the elevators for him to continue on to his rooms, and he could bid her a good evening before leaving her and continuing on his way. He didn’t glance back or make any indication for Eishrin to follow. So unless the Guardian wanted to wander about the building on his own with no telling who he might bump into, he’d follow.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

"But it will take more than a fuck or three to settle the fury in that one."

The corner of Cerise' mouth lifted with a conspiratorial, sly smirk that saw a glimmer of mischief within the dark stones of her eyes. She wondered whether her dear friend ever truly meant for his Guardian to be free of the fire that was his rage. She knew Bellamy to prefer challenges, dares even, to prove himself capable of everything that other's believed that he was not. It had begun early, that innate desire to do and be better, and she had witnessed the twisting reality of it as they'd both aged into adulthood. For the Guardian's sake, she hoped that the Wendigo never softened.

That smirk remained as she watched the sharp profile of Bellamy's face as his own glacial gaze slid to the steam-slick ebony form. She watched her friend watch his Guardian, keen to see the flicker of whatever he allowed his features to betray, but found nothing until Bellamy's gaze fell back into her own. There was mischief there, a light she had not seen for some time, and Cerise's own smile softened for just a heartbeat before schooling into neutrality.

Among their kin, emotions were weakness. Empathy, softness, tenderness were all things they could not afford. It was beneath them, but Cerise had felt it on only a handful of occasions—once when her mother died, second when she had witnessed Bellamy begin to grow cold despite the fire within him, and then now. He's coming back to himself, Cerise hoped; foolish in of itself. Will he come back to me, too? Because, despite how the fondness had been beaten from them, she felt it still when thinking back to their youth.

"No, I suppose not," Cerise mused, "but you cannot blame a girl for being curious." Curious, she was, because there was drive within Bellamy again when so little had been able to herald him into interest. "I suppose Max will regret informing me of this, once he learns that I have your blessing to torment me." She fell into step beside her childhood friend, setting a hand over his forearm. Her playful smirk betrayed her humour as she teased; "Are you sending me away with your permission as a form of punishment to your brother? You should know better than to use me."

Behind them, Eishrin remained within the suffocating blanket of swirling steam. They had cleaned themselves within the bath, let the near-boiling waters like the sweat from their skin, but he could not help but still feel dirty. Perhaps because that no matter how he had swiped the rough pad of a finger along the cleft of his rear, dipping into his rim, that he felt another slow weep of warm, thick syrup. Ghost, it seemed, had a way of lingering.

The towel wrapped over his hips concealed him enough, hid the trickle of seed down the inside of an ebony thigh as he turned to spy the Ghost, hair silvery and his back turned. Together, he and the dark-haired Keeper were conversing by the door, and Eishrin did not need to strain to hear their words. So easy, they came to his ears and he wished that they didn't. Eishrin wished a lot of things, none of which were possible.

As Ghost linked his arm through that of his female companion, Eishrin tensed. Together, they drew close, and he was consumed with the urge to set space between the spaces of their bodies. Not jealousy. Not possessiveness. Something instinctual that came from deep in his marrow. Eishrin couldn't truly name it, but realised that he'd taken several steps to follow without meaning to; as if the growing ache in the centre of his chest was the cord of their bone pulling taut.

Wait for me, he wanted to say. Don't leave me, some child-like part of him wanted to plead. But it was the beast in him that always won, and Eishrin remained silent as he held still within the bathing chamber until their voices quietened and he was nearly alone; watching their backs. That ache accompanied him as he finally ventured out, his strides long and lazy. He would not rush, would not attempt to make up the distance, and would not ask for them to slow down. Ghost was content with leaving him behind, as if they had not spent weeks apart when they should have been together and not suffering. Eishrin knew that he meant nothing, and this only solidified it.

"He survived your venom," Cerise was saying almost hushed. "Do you think that is because Death has forgotten him, or because he was merely crafted that way?" She wondered if that was something Bellamy could even tell—how his genetics were constructed and lab-made, twisted and teased together. The last of his kind, but not truly. There were parts to the beast lumbering behind them that were not of of this world. "Max said he survived without you for some time…" Dark eyes slid over her shoulder to the creature of ebony, before dragging back to Bellamy's profile. "How very wicked of you."

The hand upon Bellamy's forearm squeezed tightly as they neared the elevator, and Cerise untangled herself from her dear friend. "Well," she breathed, a wicked smile playing over those painted lips. "I shall leave you to it and carry out Max's punishment on your behalf." With a wink as the elevator doors opened and began to seal her inside, Cerise added; "Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, and if you do, call me."

Alone.

Finally, finally, truly alone.

Eishrin had taken pause in the width of the corridor, some distance away from his Ghost as he observed. He made no move to edge closer, to shorten the distance between them and draw himself near. His Ghost could do without him. He knew that now. He wondered Ghost felt the same hollowness in his chest that ached to be filled. As Cerise had predicted, one fuck did not seem enough, and Eishrin's blood was swirling hot as he considered the grapple of Ghost's hands as he'd came. That liquid hot desire flushed through their bond.

Still, Eishrin did not move and did not speak. He remained there, lingering and watching, drinking in the fine details of Ghost's face and frame, and would follow if the Keeper turned to walk once more. The distance between them seemed almost measured, until an ornate door appeared before them. Eishrin, the thunder of his pulse was as loud as the chant within his blood for more—more touch, more seed, more Ghost. He stepped in close, the broad of his bare shoulders hunched, as a hot huff of air fled his nose across the top of Ghost's pale hair.

I did more than just survive your venom, didn't I?

The cool tip of his nose brushed in against the silken, snowy tendrils. Eishrin was not shy in the way that he inhaled deeply, held the scent of Ghost deep within his lungs, and let it purr out of him. It was laced with a subtle floral scent, the lingering remnants of the female Keeper whom had touched Ghost's arm, and it had Eishrin's eyes snapping down to the flesh as if it were charred by her touch.

I defied it. I defied you. So why is it that I want more of you now? ​

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

Bellamy just barely managed not to roll his eyes, “You know, humans have a popular saying about those who are curious.” Now, arm-in-arm and no longer face-to-face, a knot of tension he hadn’t realised he’d been holding onto, eased away. Cerise and those dark eyes of hers saw too much. Noticed too much. He’d felt the scrutinizing intensity of her gaze. She knew him too well, could read him in ways only a few others could, and he did not want to know what she saw when she looked at him; what vulnerabilities he displayed unwittingly because of his fondness for her.

“It’s unfortunate Max lacks the sense to regret anything.” Matching her teasing tone, he pressed his free hand over his heart, “I use you? Darling, you wound me.” A huff of a laugh followed but the moment passed quickly.

Cerise’s hushed statement heralded in a pregnant pause of silence. Into that silence, Bellamy only said, “He did.” The Guardian had survived more than just his name, but that was a discussion that could wait. Though perhaps it wasn’t a discussion to be had at all because it quickly became clear that Max had allowed his tongue to run away from him. A muscle pulsed in Bellamy’s jaw and he gave a noncommittal humm. What had Max not told her?

They’d reached the elevator and as the two parted ways, Bellamy nodded once, “Be sure it hurts.” He returned her wink and parting words with a, “Always.” And then the elevator doors were closed and he was alone.

Well, not quite.

He had a particularly heavy shadow stalking after him. A silent, watchful shadow whose gaze burned through him and was accompanied by a rush of liquid heat that settled low in his core. Without so much as a backward glance or any acknowledgment of the other’s presence, he turned and continued down the hall. As they neared the door, the shadow became a fully manifested presence and the heat of the other man curled around Bellamy. It took a few seconds too many to realise that it wasn’t his pulse that hammered through his head but that of his Guardian. And then came his voice, inside his head.

I did more than just survive your venom, didn't I?

You did.

I defied it. I defied you. So why is it that I want more of you now?

Bellamy fought against the full body hum that vibrated through him at the larger man’s proximity; the ease with which he wanted to could melt back into him, but he only tipped his head the barest inch to the left, considering Eishrin’s words as he grabbed the ornate bronze doorknob and pushed open the door. "Have you considered the simple answer,” stepping over the threshold, he threw back over his shoulder, “that you’re just greedy?”

The room beyond was dimly lit beneath deep red light, the far wall offered up an unobstructed view of the city skyline and before that, a bed spacious enough to comfortably fit more than one fully grown Guardian. Bellamy clicked his tongue, crossing the room to settle down on the edge of the bed, “Greed. One of those pesky human sins.” The loosely tied robe slipped off one cream shoulder as he leaned back on his hands. “Whatever shall we do?”

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

You did.

It felt like praise. It was, in a sense, as Eishrin knew that the wraith of a man before him would grant him far less. What words had spilled free of Ghost within the swirl of the steam in their shared embrace had not been usual. Eishrin felt it in his bones; that Ghost would afford him no such thing as kindness, assurance, nor freely given praise. It had him taking those two words, swallowing them deep, and nestling them tight against his heart. The faint bloom of warmth that came, he allowed himself to feel; even as Ghost peeled himself away effortlessly and left Eishrin upon the threshold of a blood-glow room.

The crimson washed over everything, like thick, coagulated syrup. Over the dark silk of sheets and smooth tiled floor, while casting a ghoulish glow upon the walls. The shadows appeared darker by contrast, creeping and swirling within the corners of the space. Eishrin felt drawn to the darkness of them; not because he feared being cast beneath that same scarlet light, but because the shadows were merely familiar. Like calling to like.

It was precisely that which had Eishrin crossing the threshold and seeing that door sealed and locked closed at the broad expanse of his back. Within the carmine-tainted room, Eishrin held himself still for several hard heartbeats longer as the scent of his Ghost rushed at him with a vengeance. This was his room. This was his private space amidst the Tower. This was where Ghost had sealed himself inside and allowed whatever mask that he wore, if any, to fade. Eishrin wondered whether he'd ever be able to witness such, and then immediately wondered why he'd considered that at all. Ghost would sooner geld and bleed him than allow him such privy.

Lazy, Ghost settled upon the edge of his large bed and stretched backward in a lean halfway between casual and grace. It had the soft of the robe slipping over pale, cream skin to reveal the sweep of a collarbone, the angle of a shoulder, and the bloom of a nipple; but only a glimpse. Eishrin's dark gaze had followed the fabric's descent, and he felt the madness of it. How he wanted to feel the smooth expanse of that glorious skin beneath his tongue and teeth. How pretty the milk of it would be when coloured by his mouth and clutching hands.

The arousal that simmered in him, thick and heavy, crackled through their bond and Eishrin did nothing to hide it. What was the point when he knew that he'd not succeed? What was the point when Ghost could likely tell simply by taking in the wide blow of his pupils, the hammer of a pulse at the side of his neck, and the still-thick swell beneath his wrapped towel. Eishrin's body betrayed him still, even as he felt the fatigue curl warmly in his limbs as a heaviness.

"Human sin," Eishrin echoed; voice low like the roll of distant thunder. Closer, he edged, but his footfalls came slow. He crossed to his Keeper in no absolute rush. "Must one be human to share in such sin? Or do we believe it powerful enough, invasive enough, to cross species?" Because you are no man, and neither am I. For Eishrin had been spliced and grafted and created from samples of long ago. Human, perhaps, deep at his genetic core, but in a mutilated sort of way.

"It isn't greed, my Ghost," Eishrin countered, but did not argue. Not truly—least he didn't see it as such. He was stood over Ghost, both illuminated in the crimson glow, and Eishrin fought to keep his eyes upon the beauty of the man's face. "Greed would be my desire to possess you. Greed would be a need to take from you as you have me, and to hear the saccharine of your begging. Greed would be to demand more, despite how it is that you feel."

So beautiful. So horrifyingly gorgeous. Ghost, cast in the glow of his room, appeared like a ruby-studded god. The crimson caught and glimmered in the pale of his hair, cast colour across his cheeks. It transformed him into something almost akin to blushing, even if such a thing where impossible because Ghost merely would not allow himself such. So pretty, Eishrin was struck then with a newfound belief: that Ghost would be ethereal painted in any colour or shade to exist.

The room echoed with the deep thud of impact as Eishrin knelt. A hand upon the mattress by Ghost's thigh while the other was bolder. It caught the Keeper's knee, squeezed it, and slid up under the hemline of the robe. Slow. Tentative. As if Eishrin were a lover asking for permission for more, while tracing the shape of his silky thigh.

Even as they were, Eishrin's face was close to Ghost's own. His height and how he towered above all saw their eyes level, and the consuming darkness of Eishrin's own threatened to swallow Ghost's own. That tracing hand swept over the outside of a thigh, a thick thumb smearing over skin, as he felt it dimple gently in a squeeze. He brought that leg up into his lap and the other hand to knead at Ghost's calf.

"This is how you had me, back there in that room, when I found you." Eishrin tilted forward, pressing the thick plush of his lips against an exposed, milky thigh. Dark eyes flicked upward from beneath thick lashes as he said hotly against Ghost's skin; "This is how I wanted to have you then." Let me.​

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

A sharp electric crackle skittered beneath Bellamy's skin and he inhaled, deep and slow, the heavy scent of his Guardian’s arousal lashing out at him, curling over his skin, where it found and wound itself up in his own rising need. The crimson light draped Eishrin in deep, deep shadow, glittering like blood off his dark complexion. Pale eyes drifted languidly down the sharp-cut physique of the man who prowled forward, unhurried though his pounded with urgency. Unbidden, the Keeper’s tongue peeked from between his rosy lips as his gaze fell and held on the tent of the towel wrapped around the looming man’s waist. His fingers itched to tug away that covering, his mouth salivating with a need to taste. But he remained still, a painting of poise and careless ease.

Oh, it was greed. But Bellamy didn’t see it as important enough to argue about. Now, whether it was a sin, depended on whether one gave any real weight to a construct of humankind.

"Greed would be my desire to possess you. Greed would be a need to take from you as you have me, and to hear the saccharine of your begging. Greed would be to demand more, despite how it is that you feel."

A slow, predatory smile lifted a corner of Bellamy’s mouth, amusement dancing in his darkening gaze, “That isn’t greed, Eishrin. It’s madness.” And it was mad. Would be mad, if the man ever attempted to force his wants onto Bellamy. He would leave him with wounds that would never heal. “You don’t strike me as mad.”

And then they were eye-to-eye, the Guardian on his knees before him. Bellamy’s breaths slowed; shallow, barely there. A tremor ran through his thigh, the muscles flexing beneath the large brushstroke of Eishrin’s palm. How easy it'd have been to give into temptation. How he wanted to answer the promise in the dark of the other's eyes; the lascivious smoulder peering up at him beneath thick, dark lashes. It licked up across his skin and settled like molten liquid low in his groin. A shuddered exhale vibrated up through his chest, past his clenched jaw, and out of his nose. "What you want,” he said, words coming slow and measured, “is irrelevant."

“What you need is rest. Your pain has passed, now it's only a matter of time before sleep demands its debt repaid in full.” He reached down, pressed his fingers beneath Eishrin's scruff-covered chin, dark claws dimpling the skin of his jaw as he grasped the man’s face, “And when I let you have what you want, I don't want you collapsing into a stupor halfway in.” He patted Eishrin’s cheek, a mocking consolation. "Now, come," he patted the bed. "You should take advantage of the privilege while it is offered to you."

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

Madness. What was madness, truly, when Eishrin had clawed at his body, writhed upon the floor, felt so cruelly removed from his soul that he felt empty? What was madness when he'd been consumed by visions of snowy skin, alabaster hair, and eyes that he'd never forget? Madness, Eishrin had believed, was the want he had felt—that he still felt—for a creature that had crumbled him, leashed him, tore his very soul from him and held him bound. Madness was thinking that this thing between them could ever change.

"What you want is irrelevant."

A hot huff of air left Eishrin through the broad of his nose as his hand smeared higher, kneading at the supple flesh closer to the apex of a thigh, as he lowered his face to a bared, milky knee. He knew that to be true; that what he wanted was irrelevant. Hell, Eishrin knew that anything he wished for, dreamt of, was inclined to refuse even, no longer mattered. He'd felt it deep in the marrow of his bones as he'd writhed upon the concrete floor of the Seeker's Compound, his body finding release but his mind and soul never.

The flat of his nose pressed in against cream skin, gently running along the soft flesh in a nuzzle before thick, plush lips followed the same path. Eishrin's eyes had fallen closed at Ghost's denial, but he'd draw himself closer and pulled the man's other bare foot into his lap to knead at the sole of it. Even if you want it, too? Because their bond worked both ways, as much as his Ghost likely wished to deny it. Eishrin had felt the subtle shift in breath, loud in his ears as if it had licked the shell of it, and the warmth of the other man's lust. Ghost was denying not only his Guardian upon the floor by his feet, but also himself.

Yet, as Eishrin pressed his thumb into the sole of his Ghost's foot and swept his other hand down to tuck under supple thigh, he found his face caught and turned upwards. Dark eyes snapped open, settling first within those cold gemstone eyes before falling slowly to the seam of a mouth; watching rather than only listening. The pat to his cheek had a frown forming between his brows and the hand grasping Ghost's thigh tightening a fraction. Ghost spoke logic, and Eishrin hated him for it. He was being offered the bed when Eishrin had been convinced the Keeper would only grant him the floor.

What a privilege it is to not sleep on the floor, Eishrin thought to himself with a sort of bitterness he could taste. Up from the cool ground, he rose, but did not entirely stand. Instead, he pressed his knees against the plush mattress and stole Ghost's waist with the loop of an arm. A moment later and Eishrin was on his side, above the covers, having dragged Ghost in against his chest; spine to breastbone.

Eishrin could not deny the heaviness in his limbs, nor the tired of his eyes, but he equally could not ignore his wish to be close. Skin against skin, but he knew better than to peel the robe from Ghost's form, having taken too many liberties already to drag Ghost over the bed and tuck him in against his front. He expected punishment for it, but Eishrin merely held the man there with an arm curled over a lean waist, and curled closer to press the flat of his nose against silken hair. The entire room smelt of his Ghost, but he was bathed in it as they'd settled into the sheets. He wondered how many others had tumbled here.

He said nothing as he felt the creep of slumber, as his breaths became slow and deeper, as his eyes fluttered closed and he sighed hotly into Ghost's hair. He said nothing as sleep drew him down into the darkness. There was only the sudden limp of that curling, hugging arm and a stillness in him as a slow thought drifted into Ghost's mind before unconsciousness; I hate that you were right.

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

The loss of the man's mouth and hands on his skin was the price demanded of Bellamy's denial of them both. But he'd been true in wanting the other man at full strength before anything more happened between them. He'd begun to lean to lean away as the other rose, and though he perceived perfectly the man's movements, he did not expect to be caught in the strength of that singular arm, to be pulled down against his will, his back pressed close against the furnace like heat of the other's front.

His muscles locked up on instinct, his breath stilling. A cold, lifeless doll. Not quite fury, but shock had his vision blurring. Darkness coiled thick and liquid-like between his fingers but he didn't move. Didn't retaliate. He just lay there, surrounded in the heat and smell of the other, the man's breath warm against his hair, slowing, slowing.

A drifting thought.

I hate that you were right.

Stillness.

He didn't know how long he lay there. But his hammering heart had finally settled, syncing up in rhythm to the sleeping man at his back. The room’s lights had dimmed before fading out completely. Time continued to tick away, and then discomfort came. The shock had dribbled away.

Something small and inconsequential in the pit of his being wanted to melt into the larger man's embrace, to be swallowed whole and down into sleep with him. Bellamy took hold of that small inconsequential thing and crushed it dead.

Darkness gathered, gaining form, making space for itself beneath where Eishrin's arm lay limp with sleep against Bellamy's side. It took the weight of that arm, lifting the barest of inches. Just enough for Bellamy to roll free. He slipped from the bed, the cold of the room prickling at his overwarmed skin. He tugged the robe closer, shoving his hands into the deep pockets as he padded silently to the window, eyes unseeing on the brightly lit cityscape beyond that blotted out any semblance of the stars above. He pressed his forehead against the glass, closed his eyes.

Gradually, with every exhale, his defences shirveled up and fell away like a snake shedding its skin. Trembling, his body felt heavy, the inside of him hollowed out. Not quite drained, not satiated. Tired. His mind was a chaotic roil of thought and feeling. The weight of the sleeping man’s presence pressed at his back. In and out of consciousness, he drifted.

How long he stood there, he couldn't say. But when he next opened his eyes, a thin line of light cut across the horizon. The sky was still dark. Pushing away from the window, he stretched his arms high above his head as a deep, tremulous sigh escaped his chest, releasing all of the chaos and discomfort that’d gathered there. He returned to bed.

Lying on his side, he faced Eishrin, just out of arm's reach. His pale gaze traced the smooth lines of the other’s face. Not a single deeply etched line of hate to be found.

How did you do it?

The question comes soft as a whisper, slipped free before he could catch it. But the man is asleep, and the question is one that nags and nags. Even as he lay there, he could feel the residual memory of the agony that'd rocked through him. A white-hot slice that had taste, texture, and was alive. He’d never…

Never felt anything like it.

Even with his last Guardian. The last one his brother had ever tried to force him to bond with. They’d reached a tense understanding after.

The memory, half-formed, gradually sharpened: Even through the thick one-way glass mirror, the tortured wailing of the Guardian on the other side could be clearly heard. The Guardian was writhing on the ground, clawing deep canyons into his face. His body was trapped between human and beast as both fought for dominance, with limbs bent at unnatural angles, and blood drying in clumps of fur poking through human flesh, fangs too large for a human mouth having split his lips. What yowled on the other side of the glass was not human, nor Guardian, but some nightmarish abomination that defied reason.

Yvain stared at the scene unfolding behind said glass, lips pressed into a thin line and a slight crease between his burnished eyebrows. "You've proven your point. I think it's time he be put to rest."

Bellamy's icy pale gaze slid away from the Guardian to his brother. "This will be the last."

Yvain nodded, a single curt dip of his chin. "Yes. Now give the poor bastard death. He deserves that mercy."

“One week. That was the agreement." Bellamy turned back to the scene to find the Guardian—staring directly at him, though that was impossible—tugging at his cock with a violent desperation, his claws tearing into the turgid flesh. The creature appeared to feel nothing.

“It’s only been five days.” Bellamy shifted two steps to the left to see if the Guardian’s eyes would follow. They did not. "I'm curious if he'll last."

Yvain said nothing, but his disapproval was a weighted presence.

And then the Guardian darted to his feet with inhuman speed, slamming his body forward into the barrier of the glass with a muffled bang. There was a wet crunch. The glass didn’t so much as tremble. Blood coated the rabid creature’s mouth and chin, some dried, some fresh and dribbling. The Guardian begged with broken, retched whimpers. His capability to form words into coherent sentences had fled sometime around the third or fourth day.

Watching the Guardian writhing in agony, Bellamy felt nothing. Not a hint of clamouring within his mind. He was aware of where they were linked, but the barrier was immovable. Not so much as a crack for something to leak through. There was no shadow of the Guardian's torment. Of his agony.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

The depths of Eishrin's darkness was all-encompassing. The very moment that his heart had steadied and his breath had slowed, it was that abyss that stole him. Downward, he spiralled. A bottomless pit that seemed so hungry to have him until Eishrin felt as though he were falling. Yet, unlike all other times, his body didn't jerk to wake him. That weightlessness shifted into the sudden drop in his stomach, yet Eishrin still remained deep within his sleep's clutch. He fell, he tumbled, he tried to wake himself and draw back into his body only to find resistance.

What Eishrin found—granted to him through the thinning of a veil—was something far worse.

A room. Dark, shielded by glass, Eishrin found some corporeal version of himself standing within the corner. The hand that he drew up to his face was slow, like the blurring of a digital image that could not load quick enough. It glitched before him, somewhat transparent, and had Eishrin frowning as he glanced about the room.

I don't know this place.
It was not of his memory.

Eishrin was not alone, but who stood before him seemed far more solid than himself. Their backs were to him, their gazes forward through the glass, as the light streaming through from the other brightly lit room illuminated their faces and the white of one's hair. Eishrin would recognise those near-silver tendrils anywhere, for they had haunted him for weeks.

Ghost.

This was not his memory, but that of the Keeper bound to him. A memory, or perhaps some wicked fantasy; it was hard to say. Yet the image seemed far too clear to be false and simply imagined. The edges of shapes were too clear, too real. The shadows cast across the floor far too defined. Eishrin had been dragged into Ghost's memory, and that was, perhaps, the most horrifying thing of it all.

Quietly, Ghost conversed with the other figure at his side in words Eishrin couldn't quite hear. He strained, tried to pull himself from where he lingered within the corner, but found himself unable. There was movement upon the other side of the glass, and Eishrin looked, then. A Guardian trapped in a form not entirely man but not entirely beast—a blend of something monstrous. There was a wildness within those eyes, the whites of them showing with their insanity. Yet, it was the pained sounds tearing free of the Guardian, the quick stroke of a fist over a cock that was shredding under claws and friction, and the blood that drooled down from fang-pierced lips that had Eishrin's blood cooling.

"It's only been five days. I'm curious if he'll last."

Eishrin looked to Ghost's figure, a flurry of disgust and rage forming in him. Was this all that it had ever been? Something to sate the bastard's curiosity to see how long it takes for a man to lose his entire sense of self? Was that all that Eishrin, himself, had been when he'd suffered through all those weeks only to crawl to kneel at Ghost's feet?

A crack came like a gunshot and Eishrin's gaze ripped back to the glass, now smeared with crimson. The Guardian stood, staring, as blood poured from his nose and mouth to coat his sweat-slicked chest. The angle of his nose was off.

What drives one to be so cruel? What things have happened to you?

The memory-dream shifted and fizzled, tearing Eishrin from the room like water spiralling down a pipe.

When he finally jerked awake, he did so against something firm and cool with his limbs tangled and tucked. Eishrin, in his slumber, had slipped down the length of the large bed and curled upon his side. Ghost was not as he'd been when sleep had stolen Eishrin. Instead, he had turned to face him, pale hair like starlight across silk pillow, and lashes soft against high cheeks. Eishrin only knew this once he'd lifted his face from where it had come pressed flush against Ghost's breastbone; his arms about the man's hips as he'd curled himself about the other's legs.

When did I…? He must have drawn himself closer, sought touch despite what had consumed him amidst the sharing of that dream. The disgust and fury had simmered to something a little less acidic, but remained in his chest still as he realised he no longer had feeling in the arm nestled under Ghost's waist and wrapped around the small of his back. He could not peel himself away even if he wanted to. Maybe it is better if I don't wake him…

Dark, obsidian eyes roamed over pale face, and Eishrin marvelled at how something so beautiful could be so utterly monstrous. A wolf wearing lamb's hide; so pretty and angelic despite the true, twisted nature of him. Eishrin's other arm slowly lifted, a hand rising up towards that face, taking a lock of white hair between his forefinger and thumb and twirling it over a thick digit.

"It's only been five days. I'm curious if he'll last."

Eishrin dropped that silken tendril of hair.

I lasted far longer. Does that please or enrage you? A question more to himself, rhetoric, than the man he'd drawn his face tightly against in his sleep. It slipped between them, their bond wider than it should be. I suffered out of spite. Does that make us worthy of each other?

Bold, Eishrin tried to retrieve his trapped arm by sliding it from beneath Ghost's side. It shifted the Keeper some, and Eishrin's hand came to a hip to brace him before he pulled again. If Ghost stirred, he'd be met with a sharp look but no apology. ​