Third day
Blanket | Falling | Chains
You caused this.
Is something wrong? Eh? Can you speak now? — that man panted, looking at him with a cocky gesture and a mocking smile; he clearly believed himself superior in every sense.
V - Victor... — the larger man forced out, trembling with his eyes wide open, not understanding what was happening. Why was he on his lap? Why was he being so aggressive? What was going on?
He continued to moan, a guttural sound rising from his throat, thick yet shockingly soft, his thighs upon that stone table, clutching the chain connected to the iron collar that clung to that neck full of scars and grayish skin.
Come on... Come on... Try it, another word, another goddamn word. — Between groans, he rose, moving up and down, shifting his hips over that which he never thought to use for such a purpose.
The creature didn't stop staring—that exposed chest, that green robe covering such a shameless union. He swallowed hard, noticing the rebellion in the eyes of his sun. He was searching for something, but he knew not how to do anything but murmur his name without understanding a thing. Though his body burned with a sickly desire that consumed his womb.
What was that sensation? He could never get it out of his head, not even when hours later he ended up falling down a massive cliff in a fire, nor even when he learned there was something beyond all that—that humans hated his deformity, and only an old man showed any decency.
The old man died at the hands of wolves; he was attacked again by those hunters, left with that pain in his chest. That love and appreciation began to fade once more; he wanted answers, he wanted to understand everything that was happening, and he knew where to find them.
Going against all odds, he managed to reach that point, he found him in that room, noticing once again every detail of that face he was detesting so much in that moment. He demanded something to numb his pain, something to love and to protect.
He refused flatly. Rage consumed him again; there was no time for thought. He threw him against the bed, knocking the wind out of the older man. The prosthesis came loose from its place. Victor watched, terrified, as the creature locked the door with a few simple movements; screams and attempts to break in could be heard.
The creature turned to look at him. There was no longer an attempt to be reasonable; he would take what he wanted in that instant. It didn't seem like a problem to force it, not when exactly the same thing had happened that night.
You provoked this! You gave me this life I didn't ask for, you gave me these desires I never thought I’d feel for you! — he shouted as he approached the bed. Those white sheets adorned the place; a velvet blanket of the same color had cushioned the older man's fall.
Victor clung to those sheets. His prosthesis was gone, his trousers torn by the erratic movements of the creature he had believed dead, but who was now there in front of him. He swallowed hard, trying to find that same confidence born from the spite of being rejected by his beloved Elizabeth, but it died in his throat when he felt the weight of the creature upon the bed.
Wait, we can... We can talk, I can do - do whatever you require but please n - no, don't do this... — He hated the trembling way he said things as he propped himself on his elbows, feeling this being wedge himself between his thighs, forcing him to let him be there.
The white gala vest was torn without mercy, as was the shirt. Then came terrible bites and marks that stained all that olive skin, while Victor tried to push him away or reach for his weapon, but it was impossible; there was too much strength pinning his hands against the bed.
It felt as though he were being devoured by a hungry lion. He screamed for him to let go, insults pouring from the depths of his chest, but nothing worked. Hands slid down to those hips, undoing the belt, then the trousers were torn to shreds as well, leaving the Baron naked. He gripped that thigh firmly, digging his fingers into the flesh, sliding toward the right buttock, squeezing hard.
No! Don't you dare do it, you filthy beast! — he screamed, putting his hands on that face, trying with all his might to push him away, but then his cries were smothered beneath a monstrous palm. His eyes teared up terribly, refusing despite everything.
It was quite fast, accustoming himself to entering without pantomime or sweetness, feeling again that terrible union that happened that night a few eras ago. He felt Victor bite his palm from the pain, the creature's blood on those trembling lips, while Victor's blood bathed the beast's belly.
Frankenstein's eyes rolled back. The creature panted heavily upon feeling that familiar pressure he hadn't experienced in months, still sealing those moans beneath his palm, thrusting again and again, staining those delicate sheets with that immoral encounter.
Is this what you want, Victor? Another word? Another sentence? This is what you were looking for, isn't it!? — he asked, smiling even as he panted deeply, still crashing against that bruised flesh.
There was no affection or any kind of tenderness; it was a force of nature taking what was his from the start. Licking Victor's tear-dampened cheek, he withdrew his hand, biting the lower lip, forcing him to open his mouth to receive an inexperienced but desperate kiss.
The scientist bit that tongue, though he lacked the strength. His hands clung to those shoulders, digging in his fingers; his nails broke under the pressure he exerted. He didn't want to... surprisingly, he didn't want to pull away, and his treacherous body was enjoying what was happening.
Each thrust became more anticipated. His back arched at one especially direct hit inside him, panting against those blackish lips, embracing that neck, his mind going blank for a few moments, finally spilling between their bellies. His leg trembled, and he let go of the creature's waist, losing consciousness from the shock between them.
Something that brought about the creature's climax, allowing him to stay inside him for a few moments longer. Hearing that they were about to break down the door, he grabbed the blanket and wrapped the man in it. Adjusting his own trousers, he stood up, smashing the balcony door and leaping into the garden.
He began to run with that bundle in his arms, protecting him like a stolen treasure, fleeing from that crowd that would not understand purpose or the desires ignited by his rotten father.
