“Lie down”
The simple command shuddered and hung in the air while a smothering phantom pressure crushed his pale neck. Fingers slightly rough at the tips traced spiderwebs over Lucas’ shoulders and a cool breath tickled his exposed flesh. A gasp like winds of a dark cave and he was deeply impaled by the long thick white fangs of his lover. He cried out in pain though the pain was not absolute. He felt a strange pressure at his neck and the cold tongue lapping at the warm blood that spurted in time with his hearts beating.
“I’ll bleed to death Argyle.” He whispered.
His only reply was the increased pressure as the vampire sucked harder at his neck coaxing the blood from the wound with his tongue drinking it thirstily. Soon Lucas was wantonly accepting the pain and pleasure moaning and writhing on the soiled, wrinkled sheets. The blood trickled like a crimson tide down his smooth collarbone and soaked the fabric.
He turned his head on straining, aching neck muscles and saw his lover with his full pouting lips awash in red and the whole world filled red, and he slept and slept more, and he slept until eternity slipped. The vampire’s life was nothing more than feeding and copulating like primal animals from eras long past. Gold flesh, wide eyes, and the ceaseless red creek that trickled drowning his soul a burning mountain range. And there was sleep, and always more sleep tobe had.
He has pulled his young body from the pool of congealed blood so many years ago. He was meant to have died that night. But instead he ran and he ran the dark streets through fog and mist mysterious with a patched blanket shielding his bare, abused body from the moon’s garish, nightmarish stare. The ghostly gaunt faces of the streetlamps ministry turned to watch him. Their trembling milky eyes mirrored to him his tear stained eyes and his beautiful mouth screaming gibberish.
He had betrayed his God and defied death even beyond the vampire’s wish. Argyle would crucify his soul infinity times over. He had let himself off his guard and gasped the air and twined his long slender, sweat coated legs and lithe body with another’s. A stranger’s lips had feasted on his white neck and pierced his young virginal body in two ways. Argyle had begged on his knees for his body as the devout patron pleads to his Lord.
He had loved God. But his punishment was so cruel giving him no place to rest his fallen wings. God, the grand hypocrite took Argyle’s wings into his barbarian rule and dashed them on the rocks for his one error. The gates of heaven were closed to him, and he had been stranded.
Argyle could do well without the Supreme who dropped his children easily for their faults. Better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven.
With strange, pale eyes he looked maliciously out at the smiling moon. He thought to bring war on heaven itself. Argyle’s sharp laugh erupted at the absurdity of such plans when he heard a whimper from the corpse. Lucas lived.
To Be Continued....
