“Fuck you,” he said softly, mouth to mouth. Resuscitation found his lips barely breathing despite their unanimous panting,
cruelty a tremble in his control
that deepening cry for
fucking help.
“Stay. Down.”
Eoran was a gasp in that cavern’s air
a shudder against the algid lining of the mountain’s gut
helplessly prostrate
hopelessly adoring
heartlessly goading
remorseless & foul
a wreck; a wretch
beneath the glacial moil
of his dearly beloved.
“Faster—”
His plea was a mewl in that damp den
dripping from lips that spat too much fire
now turned penitent (or at least making a mockery thereof)
like Kasse owed him this after all his contemptible prodding
like Eoran had suddenly seen the error in his indecency
and would do better next time, he promised
on his harried breath, hurried heart.
“F-fuck me,” again, this time with feeling. His hands were emergent from his beggar’s hollow against that stone-scattered ground, gritty and grabbing at perfection above.
For all his struggle, Eoran was alive with felicity
exuberant on the eve of his obliteration
spine splayed on an errant boulder
happy to have
happy to be had
in spite of his churlish ignobility.
Kasse was forever in relapse.
This was reversion heresy, a traumatic addiction
to the virgin alibi of his lover’s wynorrific mouth—
and he lapped up every word, every promise of their
internecion writ in their sap sweetened blood. A slick
of salt suffering, his sweat rendered sublime by such a
distdressing reality, beads of a sacrificial lace destined
for destruction and disarray, laid as it was across that
stendhal throat. Kasse held Eoran’s breathing venerate
and tight with the singular focus of his garotte passion,
the love of a mongrel bred of thanatos, his ango touch
never enough to express the depths to which he would
sink to prove to Eoran that he, too, was fucking filth.
“Lift your chin, head back a little—short breaths, now.”
They were hopeless
plurale tantum
obscenity
divined.
“You’re so fucking beautiful—”
Watching Eo breathe in reflex
those short burst struggles for
oxygen laid Kasse’s black heart
open for judgement but he
didn’t flinch.
“—I love you—oh, Gods, more than anything I’ve ever known, I fucking love you.”
Even in his acquiescence to
Kasse’s directives, Eoran’s
eyes remained fixed upon the
man, his ensorcellment aphotic
entrenched in the delight of his
obsequious disposition
defiantly amative and yet so
submissively aroused.
The metered dispersion of
his breath colored the air
around them like springtime
from the bronchioles of his
chest, delicate petals unseen
falling gently to the ground,
surrendered from underworked
lungs——strained——grasping
in gill-sung salacity from his
fish out of water pharynx.
The dissension of his carotid
was contained beneath the grip
of his lover, but Eoran wouldn’t
have it any other way.
Contributive, he sighed slower
and slower and slower
a breath and a pause
a breath a pause
b r e a t h p a u s e
b r e a t h
p a u s e
“———h——h—————ah——“
The utterance emerged from the
fault of some auto-synapse in
his airy head full of Ossan hexery
ground into some semblance of
sound by the hoarse straining of
chords stretched along the
delicate vellum of his overexposed
neck. For an expression so
abridged, its delivery was positively
panegyric, entreating with such
efficiency the connotation of his
malacophonous melody.
Eoran’s diaphragm was burning,
but his body s h u d d e r e d.
Eoran’s tremor moan was an
arrowhead, barbed yet efficient.
It left a jagged wound intact, its
butcherbird wake devastating his every
through & through & through.
Kasse’s collapsed lungs were a mirror of Eo’s
merciless adrenoreceptors, bound and elided by his
assimilator’s aortic astriction—so very close to autoerotica.
He,
deathly sapphic,
aischolatreia
He,
undo
undone
et redundo.
The absence of voice was apophatic illogic—
it built the foundation of their combined obscenity on a pediment of word blinded pathos, climax control some fucked up paskho paralanguage, every ambigo epathon, bathos with their protelo howl stifled at benthos depths.
Kasse released their throats and worshipped their breath starved havoc in paraleipsis, his every wayward devotional stringendo and impure, blackguard rummaging
sulka
hoyhen
untuva
until he was gripping tight those hollow bones once more, ripping expletives from their fricative bel canto, a violence igniting their inchoative gasoline tremesco.
“Now—fuck, Eo—”
Kasse was nothing but his immane desire to leave Eo wrecked and wasted on the floor. His demand was a wretched whisper that coursed hideous and sublime through every strain of his lover’s muscle, rang like tinnitus through his every bone.
“—come for me.
Oh my Gods, Eo,
come for me now.”
his
dehiscence
was
exquisite
as
everything
came
back
in
a
b l i t z
of blood
to his head
their lungs once bereft were now full with a hearty gulp of heaving gasps but they were not done or over as their hands suddenly possessed with the RUSH of their life sought the skin of his lover his killer with a fury unrestrained not of anger or hatred or any foul expression of the sort but of love a love that was pure and unadulterated by the opprobrium of swoony moony sentiment better suited for simpering schoolgirls obscured in all their false demureness no this love was violent like a tempest formed between the influence of some middling ground left the breath of their death and right the rush of their life teleological and pellucid and shameless and demanding the grip of them underneath lamprey nails the taste of them in their mouth the life of them in their chest so stolen by that unlucky beast and the greediness of their harangued heart their gnashing teeth and scurrilous tongue taking unto their contentment so renewed so refreshed in that moment where they felt
SO
FUCKING
ALIVE.
Eoran’s quaking homicidal,
he let Kasse’s lips go
their lust’s condensation
a tendril of commixed spit
falling to his chin,
wiped away
with the back of his hand
as he rested his head back
against the rock upon which he had been
laid
a shamble of exhaustion
and satisfaction
unlike any other
he’d experienced
up until
this moment.
Kasse system shock of irreversible fragments rested static within his lover’s shallow breathing. Their restless calm was an infinite repeating, a reflection of a refraction of a perversion temporarily adrift, left winding and waning through their singular dueliz form in the envious dark.
Despite their ragged wake, movement a jagged reminder of their every collapse, Kasse kissed his lover’s throat. He was beyond the reach of words. He barely had the energy to maintain his tenuous grasp on futile man-made constructs like language and modesty and propriety—not when his natron body remained within Eoran’s salt core.
That lost boy would hum the tune of his navigator’s north star heartbeat till the world gave way, long after they succumbed to plague or violence or age.
Eo’s rote touch was an interminable sound
that echoed in Kasse’s spine. 18C was the
blind calm in 18B’s gloaming, his saltwater
song a compass to Kasse’s fatal lack of hindsight.
The serenity of Eoran’s expression did not quite make it to his eyes, rapt and watching, deliberate and wanton even in his taciturn sprawl. His redivivus form was wanting still; he pulled Kasse to him, sweet with sweat and defervescent in the chill of the cavern, wrapped his arms around that boy, kissed him with a love like lacework—an expression of the inexpressible that draped his fatigued bones in its filigree, ornate and precious and tirelessly composed in quiet moments such as these.
Eoran held Kasse in the umbra of their hideaway, even as their old fire faded to naught and overwhelmed the air with the memorial of its putrid calcination. His black eyes turned to the void of stone just beside them as his lank fingers made basal patterns at the nape of his lover’s neck.
“Sorry for derailing your experiment,” he said in reformed whispers after a while, “But that was so fucking good.”
“I think it was a success.” Frayed but resolute with his voice tarnished and oxidized, the older boy revelled in idolatry with his eyes half closed, his watchful gaze too close to obtain any focus. Kasse was lost in a haze fostered by proximity, intimacy’s gloaming trance. “I’ve never… gods, Eo, I’m…”
so fucking
addicted.
Everything the soldier wanted to say felt silly in the wake of their interbody experience, their communicative violence, insubordinate lust that collapsed all physical boundary and left Kasse
abyssal
worn
annexed.
“I can’t even fucking talk,” the grey eyed boy said with a laugh as he hid his ineloquence against Eo’s throat. “You made me stupid.”
“It’s ok,” Eoran replied, “You don’t have to say anything.” A stillness soon settled into his limbs, quelling even his little affections in the corollary of his seemingly timeless furor subdued. The knot of him had been unspooled, worldly anxiety staid and fear allayed by the surrender in his failed coup. Such emptiness allowed him to be happy, a blossoming feeling transparent and plain. Eoran smiled. “I love you, Kasse.”