I want to be yours
his body betrayed,
even when his
mouth asked:
“Are you mine?”
“Yes, ah, yes—fuck—” his prey responded in the heapsound melody of a subliminal unison, mouth and mind a conspiratory suasion that split the dark in the surety of Eoran’s menticidal growl.
Yes, he said into an infinity unknown
an overdrawn repercussion of his every breakdown
battered by his lover’s blasphemy, so many sounds
plucked from cords and their sympathetic servants
nerves and noises of colors laid bare for their tasting
in the meat of his midsection, dithered synapses of his
raunchy synopses—gods, the noise, all his fucking noise
howling holy murder into the hands that held him
screaming cultish prophecies in his metered assimilation
either real and present in the gentle gusting of the lonely desert breeze or
silent and deafening and sustained in their peculiar act of intertesselation.
He crept on an easy waveform measured in the roil of Kasse’s rabid glide
aesthesiogenic against their consciousness, tested
pathogenic in the heatswell shared between them—
Eoran gave himself up, and up, and up in every instance that his body
took and took and took his lover’s argent ardor recursive, subject to a fair-trade foible
a shared
experience
a communal
incision
“Gods, fuck,” the bloodwright cried in all his self-important strain, his interstitial immersion, even as their aged headboard began to crumble from all their agitation, “Fuck, Kasse, yes, I’m yours. Keep me like this, against you, an array of pieces unwilling—hah—to see anything but your beauty made manic in our
f u c k i n g
incineration.”
That’s what your name means, right? Are you my
funeral pyre? A sacrificial flame, a wild fire
on the shore consuming me whole
smoke signals and destruction
eradicating everything
—reducing me—
to ashes in your
eyes, mouth,
hands
“Yes, yes—ah fuc-k—ing Gods, Eo,” that halfbreed vagrant begged into his lover’s arrhythmic pulse, replacing every skipped beat with his own to keep him complete. His outline was kerning in wisps quickly recollected, control an illusion when he recapitulated their vulgar rhythm in maddening kinematic offbeats along the length of his co-conspirator’s every want, begged his mercy, begged his clandestine melody in each cooperative malfunction. Skin to bone, flesh to shadow, fraught and illapsible and contrapuntal and sounding more and more like a vile prayer with every passing undercry. “I want to see—”
I want to see what remains when I pick you apart
I want to know how you taste when you’re barely alive
I want to lap up the sweat pooling in your fractures
I want to be the only thing keeping you conscious
and then, when you’re a fucking mess, when your words aren’t words anymore
when you’re a slurring gasp of nonsense so overloaded you barely sound human,
when you don’t think you can possibly take another touch without unravelling entirely,
I want to throw you on the floor
and fuck you all over again.
Kasse was a growl even when he smiled, predator teeth nipping at his lover’s collarbones, the twinge of broken skin marking his insatiable wake. “I want to see you break so fucking bad.”
“Then break me,” Eo dared, impatient; held knifepoint on the stropped end of a demand. “Right now. Don’t stop there—”
Hurry, before I
eat you to cinders
make a bed of your body
your carbon particulate and
roll around in those remnants, oh—
to paint myself the color of night with
your soot, wear the most resilient of your
bones like fucking stars dotting my boundless
form in an arrangement of ivory constellations,
flecked in teeth plucked from your skull to encircle
me in a maw shaped by its permanent gaping. It will be
perfect, right? Our
allegory eternally
etched into long
inapposite Ossan
tomes embellished
in arcane tongues,
while I sit in nebulous silence recalling the hands
of your phantom spacetime, with the tale of our
sordid record forever dripping from my open mouth.
Eoran wore himself in rubied splendor, a delicate globule beading along the trifling bow of skinshallow bone.
“Do you think my tears will stifle the—ah—conflagration of my temperament, or do you think they will feed it?”
His grip gave way to mercy, releasing its captive held at the behest of his claws. Eo smoothed along the dented skin of his lover’s back and then claimed his jaw, guiding all the fury of the ghost’s feral famine to lips that were asking to be silenced from their epaenetic morology—
that were begging to spit the bloody screed he was so set on spilling
to the mouth that so desperately sought his sanguine unction.
Fuck, you’re so stunning,
Kasse,
you make me reel.
“And you make me—”
The ghost was interrupted by the grinding deathknell shriek of metal scrap giving way. He jerked Eoran flush against him as the chain link lost its grip on the edge of the building, disappeared with a pantomime imprint some three stories down, muted by sand and enveloped by the grasping quietus of the desert dark.
Kasse fell hard on his back, shoulder blades bearing the brunt of his impact against old, pitted cement and desert clay dust. The weight of his lover fell fully against his chest with how the older boy life-or-death clung to that body he’d taken, that body he’d been given—and it hurt like fuck but the ghost simply grit his teeth. He was mute in breathless laughter, silent through the hurt, kept his pain clustered behind a grimace that almost made him seem the masochist to his blunt force winding.
Two and a half gasps past adrenaline’s vapours, that mongrel stray took his friend’s mouth in ecstatic worship and nearly sobbed his confession, still so fucking enthralled, a captive despite the disruption to their union. He was so earnest, so severe in his words spun in lieu of falling, his searching gaze a blade made somehow sharper when wet.
“…I am so happy, Eo. Being with you is paradise—” Tender now, the violence drained from his marrow and left him pallescent in the moonlight. Kasse was a somber truth in lovesong refrain. “This is paradise.”
Lips slick with their kiss, Eoran pushed himself up, separating his splayed shins and scuffed knees across Kasse’s stomach. With his arms supporting himself to either side of his companion’s head, he looked down with a slowly spreading smile, sweet in response to the dim shimmer of his friend’s pearlescent gaze, searching but reticent to draw derive meaning, relaxed and bereft of obloquies.
“Yeah,” Eo nodded, carefree and jubilant, respirations still ragged from his lungs pulling overtime in their heedless elation. “Yeah, it is. It’s everything I wanted and still so much more.”
The sky bore witness to his bare back smeared with splotches of rust from all the weakened links that just tried to betray them. Shifting his weight to a lone forearm, the bloodwright observed his own dusty hand. He swiped it across his hip in a brisk motion, then brought it to Kasse’s cheek, gentle in its charmed stroke.
“Aiarato mishyanatoro,” Eoran said in his petting. His hips made a languid descent along his lover’s waistline, a lewd shimmy to remind them both they had not yet concluded what was started. “Unkyamesuekkai shinorai. Do you understand what I’ve just said to you?”
“No,” Kasse replied, a play at something sullen at the back of his words. His touch was indulgent, indolent, a wandering trespasser pacing up and down Eoran’s thighs. “When the words all run together, I can’t pull them apart again.”
Firm along his lover’s hip, his red light grasping needed the ouroboros back. He shifted their latitudes, temporary navigator in his compass’ distraction, made his demands two times, three times begged, only once consumed. He begged now, again, his repeated request for violence sweet on those callous lips parted, insolence worn funeral black in the gloaming of his callow eye.
“I don’t have to understand, though.” All clandestine intimacies half-smirked and sultry, sweltering despite the windchill, Kasse was syncopated. He slowly drug Eo back onto the scaffold, hips rising to meet him halfway up his executioner step. “I think—nnh, fuck, I think I get it.”
“Hmm. I said that I’d give your name to my heart—” Eoran croaked, a hullgasp surrounded by water and creaking in a long drawl from his every fracture tested in all their frenzied continuity. His words were less than the sum of his venerated agony, twinged with a moan on the savored slide of his arching decline. “—I would drink your tears like they were my blood.”
Whether or not that sudden quiz was of any importance remained ambiguous; the bloodwright was clearly more interested in the pike of his promiscuous perching. He straightened his back and stared down at his lover with his eyes softened in all their wonder, full of every color simply by being the ultimate void, a lack thereof. Eo hung himself long in the night, used the body below him as some numinous set piece to the salacity of his moon-drenched body’s obscene show, wore the starfields spread behind him like a glittering cosmic crown.
Eoran wanted to feel that boy forever against him,
wanted to watch as he lovingly spun him to insanity
wanted to feel him fall apart, visit his body on that
dust-ridden death bed, and suck the last gasps from
his lungs, steal every quiver of Kasse’s life with the
depraved writhing of his spread, sanative thighs.
Coy malefactor no longer in control,
that whip of a boy and his
stray dog smile
were content to watch his rider’s every move.
He worked in opposites, contradictions. Kasse was prone to subversion, rarely direct. He pulled Eoran counter to his clockwise mewl, slick with the faintest breath of alcohol running a beat and a half to every 4/4 count of the Bloodwright’s grind.
“Aiarato mish’yanatoro.” Razor lined boy all ligaments and hard edges cut the words when they spilled from his lips, an awl rasped croon aching in rapture. The syllables blurred but fuck if he couldn’t see everything so clearly. He was two seconds ahead, five seconds behind and all things existed in a smear of motion
and still:
Eoran’s outline was crisp against the night—so crisp Kasse thought they could have been superimposed, thought it possible all this was a figment of his affection starved mind, tricks played on his idiot heart. The clarity sent him vertigo reeling, a thousand beats per minute spinning out in a cochlear flourish leaving all things achromatic except Eoran. Not even the ground could save the ghost from his lover’s event horizon. “Unkyame—s-suekkai shinorai.”
Free hand loosely exploring the articulations of Eoran’s pelvis, the ghost’s mouth was free to spit his vain curses
in stutters,
tilted and frayed.
I’ve known you in whimpers. I’ve known you
bitten into pillows and gasped into tile, covered
in the sound of running water and the absent creak
of old bunks, muffled into walls.
I want to know how climax
looks when you wear it:
Do you shake?
Does your spine snap your head back?
Does your body wrick in electric convulsion?
I need to study the shape of you, memorize your taste, anatomize you until entering you is second nature. I want to know the pitch of your heat, the specific cadence of your anguish. I want to watch you in agony every time I make you come. I will hold you down while it cores you the fuck out,
when you core me out
and leave me
transparent.
“Stay with me, then—h-ah—keep holding me by the bones,” Eoran said, dry and rough like a threat, “I’ll make you suffer through it.”
He focused on the feel of him, tried him under all the duress he could muster, all the stress he could summon in the vile wriggling of his matchstick body, friction-felt and fire furious like
sulfuric antimony and
potash’s own chlorate
handled haphazardly
on sap-slung sighs
and ragged gulps of acrid camphor.
“Don’t take your eyes off of me, Kasse. Watch me come to pieces around you. Watch me fade and falter and crumble and know that you were the one that did this to me—made me weak, ripped me to shreds… made me feel…”
He was cut from the cloth of infinity depraved, repercussive in his ecliptic act of ribald excision, seeking rifts in their skin-bound junction, looking for ways to simplify the complexity of feelings felt in overwhelming abundance.
“Ah, the best I’ve ever felt. Stay with me and learn my pattern, follow my steps. Feel how I feel when you fuck me to my heart’s content. Burrow beneath me and lap at my passion, and when you can taste the imminence of my greedy apogee like a demand in your fingers and throughout your frame, look me in the eyes and tell me—”
Eoran drove like a relentless hammer making one-shot sinks of all its striking. He was working up his bawdy velocity, he was focused, lunging toward some end line—but this was very much Eoran’s nature.
That cinder-swaddled wreck was always drawn to cliffsides. He was always looking toward an edge.
The only variable that changed was from how far back his approach would start
before he came running and launched himself into the void he so coveted,
addicted to weightlessness of his every fall,
to the surrender, and
the snap that shook
his every
bone at
the
b
o
t
t
o
m
.
“Yes or no, Kasse. Yes or no?”
“I can’t separate us,” the older boy gasped, carbon monoxide error escaping him in morse code stutters. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t figure out which lungs were his anymore. Why couldn’t he stop shaking? “I can’t—mm, I don’t know where I—ah-h—where I stop and where fucking you starts—”
With the in-and-out flutter of his dark lashes, Kasse couldn’t observe who was invading who anymore, couldn’t see reality for the reverie. He thought he’d been the aggressor, so eager to see Eoran fucked solid into a spit smeared waste of mumbling torpor, barely alive and mewling, splayed atop the fractured wreckage of his glassine shower-stalled fantasies. He’d been so ready to destroy the copy Eo’d made of him, that dim illusion of a ghost built of overlong glances in open bay washrooms and exhausting desert days, half stripped in the shade between assignments. Yet here he lay with his gaze in soft focus, anhelous lips softly parted to whimper his lover’s name like he was the one getting absolutely fucked to pieces, caught unaware by the ricochet reverb of their sex careening between Eoran’s somatic assimilation and his own quantum dissolution.
Every slick slip of Eoran’s body drove a
night terror howl through his core, ravaged
his defenses and laid him bare for teeth. Every
sleight-of-hand stroke Kasse offered in worship
nipped the heels of his lover’s violent frisson, his
now and his just-past a new blur in constant
collision, constant rivision. They were a screaming
aggregate, newly formed and wild, a clusterfuck
so confused, so plangent, so savage
so in love
“Y-yes.” Kasse could barely manage to form words, more at home whining the yelping language of mongrels and bloodhounds. He held Eoran tight at the base of his spine, paroxysmal touch digging into the grooves of his sacrum. “—f-fu—c-k yes, Eo, yes.”
Ethereal stray, wary of civilized hands, begged to be his, begged to be tamed, begged for a name, keening and sharp, overfilled, overfucked, fucking over. He forced his attentions onto Eoran, into Eoran, held him hostage, held himself open—to watch, to see. He could feel the undertow gain sentience in their roiling heat, all claws and teeth and struggle and longing,
and he watched it claw through them both.
“Please—” Kasse broke his weeping sea foam moans along the jagged promontory of Eoran’s cliffside grave. “Pl…ease, y—yes. I… I need…”
I need you, Eo.
oh fuck,
I need
you.
yes.
“Fuck, Kasse—” Eoran seethed, “Ah, gods—fuck—”
He was coming together—
he was falling apart
gilt-glue glistening in silver sacrifice
bronze breath bleating in a misconstrued martyrdom,
summoning symphonies built in all the octaves of ecstatic epiphany,
auspicious sensations falling into place
—unraveling—
aligning all the angles of their esoteric susceptibility for optimal carnage.
Eoran was cognizant in the confluence of shared consciousness yet defiant in the singularity of his own, struggling not to swallow, not to impound for the sake of feeling the duality of this disaster for the rest of his wretched life.
Oh, that overzealous boy, that cannibal conspirator, inconsiderate bounder on the warpath to asphyxiate them both in the runnel of his sarin sedative,
his call to life, his
cry for mercy, his
plea for death.
He was breaking down,
spreading out
convulsive
compulsive
conscriptive
rampant
anticipant
dopant.
His mind was a hexfield of ill-portent curses conjured from all the old words his youth could never forget, treachery spat in hypolydian lapstrake mimicking the high-low points of parables full of emotive personifications—lores of love and loss, of fervency and fatality, of circles and cycles and eternities he never thought possible until awash in the consecrated perfection of this passing slice of time cohabited; shared between him and that adored boy he was perched upon.
Eo leaned forward in all his strident delight, perhaps caught unaware by his own game, that violent kick back at some mottled center of their melding. He rest his palm against Kasse’s chest so he wouldn’t completely topple over, eroded by such a calamitous rush, left ravaged and raw and despoiled. He was a strike on a singing bowl that refused to fade; a noise that just grew softer, deeper, became a subtissue echo rather than sound. Eo, too, grew softer, deeper…
When he looked upon his lover his eyes were drenched in crystalline abundance, gathering in his lashes, falling down the curvature of his cheeks, dripping from his chin,
bespattering the ghost’s abdomen.
Eoran was devastated.
Utterly and completely.
He was made
and in love.
He was unmade.
Kasse was no better, struggling to find where he’d left himself, hand slipping from Eoran’s bones. He was coming around, arrhythmic blinking trying to recover the wet saccade of his REM into something resembling vision.
How naive he must have looked in the wake of being so thoroughly ravaged. How defiled and filthy was he when he brought his clean hand to his face to wipe at his eyes, how impeccant to stumble so blithely into his insolent laughter, struck raucid from their kinesodic lament, pitched on the unsteady warble of his coarse post-coital rapture.
Nothing in Kasse’s limited experience with real intimacy could have prepared that boy for Eoran.
“I thought I was talking shit when I said I’d fuck you to tears.” The ghost’s hands shook and he’d never wanted a cigarette so bad in all his life and gods already Kasse wanted more,
addictive personality ready to
pledge allegiance, a junkie
to Eoran’s cock like it
was a fucking altar.
“Are you okay?” Gently, Kasse pressed his nose to Eoran’s temple. “What even happened, I’ve never—that was…”
“Yeah,” Eoran nodded into Kasse’s neck while he caught his breath. He pulled his head away and pushed the back of his wrist into his eyes. “I’m good. That was just… everything. I’m overjoyed, I guess. I’ve never had sex like that, or experienced a feeling so complete. I’m not sure I can really explain it—it’s like when people see a painting and break down at its beauty? Except this was an immaculate moment of time where everything felt right and okay and made sense, and now it’s gone. My eyes are open and I can see that we’re still in the army and we’ll have to go back to that base at some point where I’ll have to pretend like any of the dumb shit we do is worthwhile enough to keep my hands off of you, like the pinnacle of happiness isn’t standing right next to me when we line up, like war or existence means anything outside of the glimpse of entirety I was just given.”
Eo’s sudden surge of loathing for reality was partnered with a sigh, calm on the retreating breakbeat of his worked up heart.
“Sorry,” the bloodwright said soon after, a smile breaking the fog of his worldly gloom, “I normally have my shit together. That was just really profound.” He found Kasse’s jaw between cupped hands and dotted it with kisses. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m really… I just…” That rogue grin turned demure, affection the catalyst. He turned his gaze from his lover only to invite him to his throat, dragging his already tarnished fingers curiously through their lust left pooled on his stomach. He turned his coy gaze up, imploring—always asking, it seemed. “You make my world quiet. When everything screams, you make me still. Even before this, before the greenhouse it’s been this way. You cut through the noise till it’s just you and me and the sky and I can finally listen.”
He cast his gaze down, lids still teary from how unraveled he remained.
“I brought some blankets. A towel to clean up with. Couple bottles of water. That six pack of beer. Do you want to spend the night out here? With me? At least until the base starts coming back to life.” Pushing himself up to his elbows, Kasse offered his lover a weak grin, a shy specter of his confident shell game. “I wanna get fucked, too—if you’re down. But mostly I want to be able to remember how you feel pressed against me beneath the stars.”
“Yeah, I want to spend the night with you,” Eoran murmured as he pulled away, leaving a sleek memory of himself along Kasse’s jugular, swallowing salt commixed with his own spit. “And yeah, I want to fuck you.”
The bloodwright pushed himself up again, slid his body off his friend turned visceral accomplice. He moved to the pack Kasse brought, pulled out a blanket, water; the sage sheet spilled onto the roof where the shape of their first copulation was blown into dust—their fumble and fall, Kasse’s back in a bleary outline.