#thanksasalways

"...another..."

He wanted more. He wasn't done yet. This all felt so good. He wanted to feel even better.

"...bring the next one..."

He caught sight of his red-headed companion in the corner shifting uneasily. The small group of dead-eyed thugs around him responded to his movements, like dogs reacting to their master's mood. His own pale green eyes crawled across the room, looking from face to face to face.

"That's all," he said after a few long moments, though he knew the admission was as dangerous as anything else he could've said. There were few things more dangerous than denying this creature what he craved.

Sure enough, with only a second to process what he'd said, the blue-haired boy's head snapped up, his eyes narrowed on his former best friend.

"No," he hissed, his voice no longer heady with power. "There are more. Find them. Bring them to me."

The former bartender looked uncertain, his ruddy brows furrowed as he avoided making eye contact with his 'leader'. The boy was straightening up, his eyes blazing with outrage, his lips curled to reveal his pearly white teeth.

"That's all," he repeated, though he sounded far less assertive than he had before. He would not look at him, would not address him directly, would default to him as he always did now.

In a split second, he made to lunge at him, hands reaching like gnarled claws for the man standing just out of his reach. He was held back, the strong fingers on his shoulders digging in, dragging him back, holding him in place. He snarled and twisted, tangling immediately in his hoodie as he tried to free himself from it.

"Let me go!" he growled, his hands gripping, tearing at the larger man behind him, his eyes wild and pulse racing. All his pleasure turned to terrible, insurmountable rage and he lashed out against him, seeking retribution.

But he held him fast, his gaze met in kind, brilliant, fierce yellow prepared to combat him. He was there only to restrain, to contain the beast they nurtured and provoked, and he would restrain him. Even as he clawed and thrashed, his strong hands found him, held him, kept him at bay.

When he refused to stop fighting, he would only intensify, in his cold, silent way. He did not speak, and they feared him as much as the one who never stopped speaking, two sides of the same dangerous coin. Watching them made the others uneasy and soon enough the room had all but emptied, the broken shell of a man he'd destroyed dragged out of harm's way as they scuffled.

This was how it always ended: the small, bone-thin boy howling and shrieking and yelling in his unholy voice, twisting and kicking and scrambling to free himself; the large, muscled brute flaring his nostrils and tightening his mouth, meeting each chaotic assault with practice and understanding and preparation. Then, the finale, his hand around his throat, gripping hard enough to choke the sound from his vocal cords and rob the air from his lungs.

This part was always what earned him the most lingering damage, kicks and scratches thrown erratically in panic finding their mark with ease. He would endure. It was what he deserved. His fingers tightened reflexively as he turned, pinning the terrified boy against the wall high above the floor.

Those lovely, darting yellow eyes, those pale chapped lips, the tangled, oversensitive hair. He was everything he wanted, everything he never dreamed he would have. But he was told, encouraged to have him, and he obeyed. His punishment and his reward, his blessing and his curse. Here now, physically, with him. Here now, physically, to restrain.

The kiss stilled him, though his limbs latched on the moment he was close enough to do so. He trembled and shook, frightened but calmed all at once. He was torn, still panicked, but unsure. His fury was interrupted, his desires thrown awry.

His grip loosened, a terrible, rattling gasp sounding as soon as their lips parted. The boy clung to him for stability, his face obscured by his hair as he pulled in breath after ragged breath, his head throbbing from the lack of oxygen.

"...Ren..."

The thinnest, barest sound, easily lost between his gulps of air.

"...Ren..."

He pressed his lips to the bruising flesh on his throat.

"...Ren..."

His shaking fingers sifted into his hair and held tightly against his scalp.

"...Ren..."

Their bodies pressed together, his back arching with the promise to indulge him, to contain him through dissociated pleasures, to do as they both needed, to indulge each other's true nature and their own.

"...Ren..." it pleaded.