#dark!stallison

Heads will Roll

Introduce a little anarchy, upset the established order and everything becomes chaos.

Sleepwalking - The casket girls // Demons - Sleigh Bells // Sail - AWOLNATION // Eyes on Fire (Zeds Dead remix) - Blue Foundation // Blood Gets Thin - Pete and the Pirates // Standing in the Way of Control -  Gossip // Creator - Santigold // Blood on Our Hands (Justice remix) - Death from Above 1979 // Heads will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeahs // Where is my mind (Dubstep remix) - The Pixies

"It's beautiful," she whispers, finally walking around to his front and facing him. He smirks down at Allison as she leans up, hand fisting in his shirt as she brushes lips over his. "Ever the artist."

"It's all for you," he grinds out, hands gripping her hips as he shoves her back roughly. A small puff of air escapes her lungs as her back hits the wall, and her eyes glitter into his with a small laugh. "Now we both know that's a lie." 

                                                 Cute.

              He thinks she needs permission. Moon rises at the edge of her blade, babe. Tip kissing freckled jawline, edge angling face just so, broken chestnut flavored irises ravenous, drinking in her counterpart.  Modern day Bonnie and Clyde, with a twist. Acts committed, gratuitous in nature. Two shattered souls finding refuge in one another.                             —-….pleasure in carnage, gratification as radiance reflected in eyes of victims snuffs out. There’s nothing she’d deny him, her body, blade, heart. What’s left of it that is. Worst sort’ve fucked up. Pathological.                 Fresh blood wells, trickling free, tongue greedily lapping at the minor flesh wound. Pearly whites scrape up, catching at his jaw, digging in, dagger tracing it’s path shearing free edges of crimson coated cotton. Mouth frees itself, nose sliding across cheek, nuzzling at ear, words a sickly sweet whisper to the ears.

                                      “Fuck me first.”

     On the contrary. He knows she doesn't. But he wants to give it anyway. Wants to let her know that every drop of his blood she spills, every rake of her nails against his skin, every press of her teeth, every touch of her blade- it only succeeds in driving him wild.        The blade kisses his skin and draws blood and he hisses, in pleasure, not in pain, soul so beaten and rent out of shape that the simple slice of the blade against his skin transfers to pleasure, skittering down his spine and curling in his stomach into pure need, followed by her tongue, removing the blood in a long lick.       Clothes fall from his skin in blood covered shreds as her knife slices through them easily, pressing against his skin, but not cutting. Not this time. not yet. Fingers return the favour, pulling at her clothes, wishing he had a knife of his own but settling for pulling them up and off her body.