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“Don’t do that. Don’t hold the truth over my head like that.” The detective spat towards the silhouette of the creature looming above him.
Blood slicked hair haloed in silver light and dripping gold.
“Fuck you, standing there thinking you’re so high and mighty. I’ve dealt with eldritch fucks like you before.”
The mask of defiance was strong, tempered by ten years in the Dreamlands but he could feel the hairline fractures forming, he didn’t know how much fight he really had left in him.
Noel knew he was going to run dry at some point, already unable to stop himself from trembling slightly as he remembered The King, or Yellow as Arthur had called him. How he had forced his way into his mind, taking control of his body in a way that was far too familiar even after all these years.
He had survived The King in Yellow, he could survive whatever fresh hell he had landed in now, and if he couldn’t? Well, he would have to deal with that when the inevitable happened. There was no point dwelling on it, he would only break sooner.
The scenes that flitted across his mind had happened mere hours before but felt ancient, time stretched in the event horizon of the void, in which an approximation of a house had been constructed.
‘For his comfort’ according to the being that took great joy in making him twitch in his chair while it ran its nails along the wood or in between the divots of his spine and whispered with its lips to his ear,
“Oh, little Detective, you haven’t dealt with anything like me before. Trust.”
It patted him on the cheek, an overly friendly and rather condescending gesture from sharp, unfriendly nails. A gesture that left another smear of blood on his face.
While his neck was now whole and clear of his own blood, new red streaks were beginning to make their way down. Another gift from the tactile entity. A gift that was beginning to form a small reservoir in his collarbone.
It, Kayne, moved away from where it was lurking over his shoulder, grabbing Noels chair and dragging him backwards.
Manoeuvring itself onto a table, it sat cross legged above him, peering down from where it had positioned the both of them.
It leered for a few minutes too long in the stifling silence of a house in the middle of an abyss. Some place Kayne had referred to as the Threshold, afterwards it had gone on to spout nonsense words that Noel could barely place and quickly forgot. In his defence he didn’t have the optimum quantity of blood in his body at the time...
If the rictus, clicking of a clock, copy-paste imitation of a grin was anything to go by, it was enjoying itself immensely.
Noel on the other hand was not.
He felt scrutinised and conscious of every part of his body; it filled him with a restless energy he had no way of expelling.
Kayne hooked a finger with too many knuckles under his chin, tilting his head up and in doing so adding more crimson to its canvas.
“Well Charlie boy! Since you want the truth so badly, why have you insisted on lying to me so! many! times!?”
It emphasised each word by jerking Noels head up further, until he was having to look down past his nose just to be able to hold eye contact. His newly healed skin stinging from being stretched too far.
“It’s a simple choice: will you help me or not?”
It punctuated the sentence with a grin.
It punctuated every sentence with a grin.
“You and I both know that’s not a choice” Noel replied, bristling at the nickname before continuing “You have me here, trapped. You could make me do whatever you want so why ask?”
Kayne released his chin allowing Noel to hold his own head up and not have to stare up at the non-existent ceiling or risk straining his eyes.
“Hmmmmmmmmmmm.” The creature ended the noise with a popping sound, hitting its tongue against the roof of its mouth as it leaned back, steepling its fingers in a mockery of prayer.
“Maybe I like you Charlie Dowd (“Don’t call me that”), maybe I like how even after all this you’ve still got some fight left in you and maybe I just want to see if you’re gonna choose correctly or let that insolence get the better of you.”
The man below Kayne might have been “insolent”, but the god forgot that first and foremost Charlie Dowd was a survivor.
His mind was already whirring through possibilities. Calculations that had become second nature in the Dreamlands, flying through his mind far faster than he could properly process.
There was a kitchen. Maybe a knife in a drawer? It would take too long to find. The kitchen could just be a prop, like how in the Dreamlands The King would use facades to lure him into trusting the landscape.
Kayne’s legs were long for a creature that had chosen such a short form. It could probably rest its bare heel against the back of his chair without having to move closer. It could definitely loop them behind his neck without difficulty, effectively trapping him in place. He was already trapped. Wasn’t he?
He was sat on a chair. A chair (probably) couldn’t harm a god. Worth a shot? No. The risk is too high.
The God had eyes like roses. Spiralling into one another and drawing him down into pupils that didn’t dilate. Fractal-like. He could get lost in there and never see anything other than crimson again.
Windows without panes. The void is large, and the depths were aptly named. Would falling be worse or better than where he was now? The entity could probably just summon him back to where it wanted him. It had transported him from The Order seemingly without much thought or effort. One moment he was bleeding out on cold marble, the next on a cliff staring into the melting sun and an ocean of fire.
Fire. His heart was on fire. Beating fast. Was it just adrenaline? He had lost a lot of blood not that long ago.
The deity’s teeth were sharp. Almost crocodilian in nature. Ivory. Cold. Just like his smile. He thought they looked too clean, Kayne had blood everywhere else on his form, why not the teeth?
Run.
Where?
Dont move then, use your words.
His mother’s voice was in his head.
‘Use your words Charlie, tell us what’s wrong sweetheart.’
He wished he could. He hadn’t clammed up like that since he was a kid. At least he hadn’t until The King. There was no reasoning with The King.
This wasn’t The King, he could talk his way out of this.
But what words to use? What did a being like this want?
Him, apparently.
Maybe he didn’t need his words for this after all.
Fuck it, of all the crazy plans he had had this was one of the crazier ones, at least it would be fun. He hoped.
Charlie was quick out of the chair, tipping it over in his haste. Before Kayne could react or pester him for an answer Charlie had his cheeks cupped in his palms. Tilting his face with the same harsh movements he had been privy to moments prior as he leant down.
Fuck, he hoped he had read Kayne correctly and this wasn’t about to go horribly, horribly wrong for him. He’d already had to beg for his life once today and he really didn’t want to have to do that again.
His lips smashed into the gods with more force than he had intended, causing his teeth to clack uncomfortably in his mouth.
The deity took no time in returning the kiss with equal force. Leaning into him and bringing his hands to the small of Charlies back, pulling him against the table and drawing him in closer.
Sure enough, Kayne was kissing him back. If Charlie didn’t know better, he would have described the way he bit at his chapped lips as hungry. Unrestrained he pressed his tongue against Charlies lips as he wrapped his legs around the standing man’s waist.
Charlie wondered for a moment when he had begun thinking of Kayne as a him, but then Kayne’s fingers were in his hair and tugging, causing any coherent thought to quickly flea from Charlie’s mind.
He gasped at a particularly violent tug, giving Kayne the entry to his mouth that he had been looking for. Charlie was tempted to bite down on him as payback for earlier, he thankfully had the self-preservation to avoid this particular desire.
Promptly the entity got down to business, tracing the tops of teeth and along bitten cheeks before plunging his tongue down his oesophagus. Initially causing Charlie to gag until he got used to the sensation.
Charlie, being the only person present with the need to breathe, broke the kiss first. Having to move his head backwards for the god to get the hint and extract his tongue from where it had been examining the healed bullet wound in his throat.
He gulped down lungfuls of air, thankful that the seam of his throat was a clean scar (unlike many The King had left him) reducing the irritation caused by his heavy breathing.
At some point while Charlie was getting his breath back Kayne clicked his fingers and their positions were reversed. Charlie found himself on the table, disoriented and glad to be sitting down as a wave of dizziness washed over him.
A stained hand made its way to his chest and pushed him downwards. Pinning him in place with a finger, Kayne brushed his lips against Charlies as he said,
“Don’t fool yourself into thinking I’ve forgotten your choice my Insolent Detective.”
There was something unreadable in the prisms of his eyes. Cut glass and just as cold.
Just as sharp.
Charlie was going to end up cutting himself and he knew it.
But when had that ever stopped him before?