bug__eater
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Romeo fidgets with his poncho, irritated as hell, his fingers lightly tugging on the edge of the fabric to calm down, shift his focus. And even now, despite his discontent, he can’t help but joke. His gaze drifts to the slender cigarette clenched tightly between the stranger’s lips. A thin wisp of smoke slowly curls around them, forcing Romeo to swallow and look up at the eyes now staring intently at him. Even now, mesmerized, he can't help but feel like those eyes makes something do backflips inside his mind and scream “hooray!” three times. This brings a slight half-smile to his own lips; Gubo finally reaches his hand and shakes it, feeling the strong and warm heat even through the leather of the glove.
“Gubo Park. I can tell you’re going to cause me a lot of trouble, Romeo.”
“I’ll be more than happy to get right to it as soon as we’re on a mission together and I have to cover your back from bullets.”
“Just don’t ask for payment for that protection. I’m not paying for your lunches.”
“Oh, believe me, I’ll ask for much more than something so simple, Gubo.”
- Language:
- English
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- 1,537
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 2
- Hits:
- 35
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“I am so glad that you decided to pay me a surprise visit. I was beginning to think that you would never show up at my gallery, despite all those invitations I sent day and night, longing to see your beloved face once again. but apparently, seems like you received a prescription that forced you to come here?”
ghostly lines flash before rien's eyes, immediately blurring and disappearing into the dark abyss of his mind:
“within 72 hours, rien must meet with callisto and play a duet with him on musical instruments.”
of course, a prescription. how gracious the will of the city can be sometimes, throwing one new twist of fate after another; how it sometimes torments the strings of the heart with trials, forcing it to meet again with faces that never dared to leave his dreams.
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Gregor's blood becomes sweeter than the most precious wines when the fog of madness clouds Meursault's once clear mind, spreading crimson desire beneath his ribs — thorny vines sprout around his aching heart and settle in his lungs, forcing out another desperate gasp for air from his dry throat. He needed some warm blood in his throat now; just a little sip, a small gulp that would make him forget about anything else outside this little room. His head aches, as if a hot wave of sunshine suddenly presses against him with a soft embrace and blinds his mind without any mercy. He holds himself from whining, when his fangs itch and throb from the maddening need for blood; his body aches with a new wave of hunger that makes his legs slightly tremble, forcing him to grip into Gregor's knee and keep himself from biting into his fresh, bleeding wound.
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He had to admit that evenings like this broke up the monotony of his life. They were a pleasant distraction from the everyday routine that surrounded him wherever he went. There is nothing more pleasant than the tender touch of warm flesh against the naked contours of the body. The sharp contrast of their bodies pleasantly burns the skin, covering the traces of their recent love — passionate and pleasant. Numerous bite marks still itch on the soft velvet of his pale skin, causing Jia Huan to involuntarily sigh and gasp when Lei Heng’s lips once again trace the reddened outline of the marks, almost proud of the work he had done.
Just a few minutes ago, Lei Heng was ready to spend the whole night pressed against the flat space of Jia Huan's pale skin. He exhales rings of smoke into the air, casting a few careless glances at the patterns of their fleeting, elusive lines. The pause between them, still captivated by a lingering euphoria, seems pleasantly eternal, enveloped in a veil of cloying, plum-colored haze. Lei Heng barely runs the tip of his tongue over his lips before saying:
“So, Jia Tanchun, eh?”
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Life in Daguanyuan had taught him a lot. Even the bits of it were enough to make him realize everything — the luscious aftertaste that blossomed with acrid bitterness under his tongue even years later, the luster of a graceful life spent in the laziness and boredom of days dragging on endlessly in thick molasses: all this, trimmed in a golden pattern of fine lace, had no weight.
Jia Huan had tried many things in his life, and the heat of the baths was no great novelty to him. In fact, he even found it a slightly ironic proposition to keep Lei Heng — the capo himself! — company in the bath house, to brighten up another equally meager evening intoxicated with languid pleasure.
But still, this evening is exceptional and unique. It's unusual and oddly comforting.