Snake Eyes (vitri dmmd)(boyxboy)

C17H19NO3

Tangled on Virus's bed like they are, the picture is almost romantic. They're almost a cute couple embracing beneath the shades of moonlight; it's almost an innocuous touch winding his body tighter. Whether it's out of fear or a toxic amount of inexplicable arousal, he ignores the omnipotent urge to venture further into his desires. He'll leave it unexplained instead of shamefully aware, and in turn be blissfully ignorant rather than woefully humiliated.

His body is always racing with a buzz, occasionally it's barely there and he can turn the other way, but for the other half of his waking moments it's a revving chainsaw that gnaws its way up his spine and plants itself into the most active areas of his brain. He dwells upon unexplainable compulsions from sources unknown, from ideas forgotten long ago.

Currently, the two extremes have mingled into the one ubiquitous emotion. He's split down the centre, torn between soft purrs of contentment and inextinguishable lust. Adding to the poisonous potion is the thirst for blood. His attempt at sating it is dragging his nails down the large bicep caging him.

The reply comes as a pleasant shock.

Puffs of warm breath prickle his neck; he grants further access by craning his head away to boast the expanse of his collarbone and shoulders. Teeth latch on to the supple skin there, ski over the most prominent vein and fangs bury deep within it.

Virus sucks in a gulp of air just as Trip sucks in a mouthful of flesh.

His jaw almost unhinges when a hand slides down the back of his pyjama clad thigh. It scopes around in a ritual of up and down, attempting to soothe his fears by running a palm over the back of his pants. It halts all of a sudden, and Virus vibrates with the agony of holding himself together after this sick joke. His worries are proven pointless though as his leg is coaxed to fold inwards, accommodating hips between his own. They bend at the knee, not to cradle Trip, but to cage him, much like the arm adjacent to his head.

Virus's nails are still sinking further into hard muscle, occasionally slipping enough to scrape down and trail red stripes repeatedly.

One last jolt of pain twinges beneath his neck before the teeth leave completely. His first reaction is to ready the rest of his body for serrated canines to mark him, but a face blocks the view of his room and he can do nothing to neutralize his face from the tightness of confusion.

They study each other in what little light there is. Virus refuses to take his gaze off anything but the laser point eyes that glow like an ultraviolet light, synthetically matching the moon's violet rays.

Lids droop in half mast over Trip's downturned eyes. His hooded fixation is neither tired or lustful, but dark and hungry. A starved beast who has found its newest feast: Trip gradually encroaches on Virus's vision until it's a blurry mess of moonlit skin, where feel is his only reliance. His eyes are open for the sake of caution, though they prove little use as of now.

It seems natural to close his eyes, but then again that's never been used to describe him by himself or others. So keeping a sturdy glare from behind the thin glass of his spectacles, Virus allows a hard jaw to collide with his. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose: immediately a tongue slides into his mouth and his legs clamp tight around the hulk between them. Trip shifts barely an inch and he can guess where this is going. It may have been years since they've dabbled in this, practiced and perfected the fine arts of 'love-making', but every atom that makes up Virus remembers all too well of how this plays out. He'll twist his body, flutter his eyes a certain way, arch and curve, just the way he makes bedroom eyes can light this fire within Trip that uses all the oxygen in the room to ignite and burn for hours, which leaves them panting and gasping for whatever air is left behind. Trip claws at him like the animal he is, bites and growls the name he's whispered too many times to count from so many years ago.