Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Addiction ❯ Addiction ( Chapter 1 )

Is it possible to be addicted to another person?

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Addiction: Danger

He watches from that one sharp eye as my hands explore him. I intend to take full advantage of this unprecedented moment of permission. My fingers trace the delicate scars that pattern his flesh like the crazing on old china. His breath goes shallow, but he does not move.

I let my tongue follow my fingers. He is fully hard now, as am I; my hands touch neither just yet. I want to do to him some of the things he's done to me, see what happens when I am the aggressor. The thought excites me; his thoughts excite me further. They are seeping in, and I cannot stop them. They smell like blood.

I can't stand it any longer. I push his legs up, and he complies, his stare daring me to continue. His breath hisses between his teeth as I enter him, slowly, carefully. I haven't done this often enough to know my limits, so I am going more slowly than he ever would with me.

In agitation, he wraps arms and legs around me and pulls me to him. His nails tear into my back. As if he smells the blood, he goes berserk beneath me, writhing and bucking like a wild thing.

I am so caught up in him I ignore the warning signs.

He reaches down to take himself in hand, but I catch his wrist and pin it over his head. He snarls in frustration and tries to twist free.

I am the instrument of this fantasy, my friend, and there is no way I'll release you now, nor allow release until I say it's time. I take him with all the pent-up frustration and fury in my own heart, edging over the line between desire and torment for both of us.

A soft whine escapes his throat. His need imprints upon my thoughts, and my hand moves to stroke him. He thrusts against my hand, legs pulling me hard into him, and in that moment he is beautiful and terrible as an angel. His head is thrown back, neck arched gracefully, all alabaster and ivory and sweat. The whine becomes a growl, becomes a roar as he comes, shaking, clutching, clawing, and I come with him, my breath leaving me in a startled whimper.

I collapse against him as the last tremors shake us both.

Too quickly his breath is even once more…

Farfarello pushes me off, hurls me to the floor, lands atop me like a lion. Gone the languor of moments past; was it an illusion?

He grabs a handful of my hair, wraps it around my throat and pulls my head backward. I cannot breathe. Cool lips brush my ear. "That was the only time that you take me, you faggot. I am in control now, understood? Always, me, control."

He releases my noose to grip me by my hips. His thrust is brutally efficient; I scream out in pain as I feel myself violated, punished for my presumption upon his person. How dare I push him down, take him, make him feel? I would pay dearly for that.

His lust and fury wash over me like caustic lye, leaving pock-marks in my soul ready for him to fill. My body writhes helpless under his ministrations. My face goes hot with shame and lust as I push back against his thrusting, like a whore. I am overflowing with his desires, his intentions black as ravens in a starless sky. I can feel his madness pushing into my mind, and I push back against it too.

I am hard again, sharing his dark need, and this shames me further. I try to free a hand to touch myself, but, not unexpectedely, he forbids this, pinning my hand behind my back hard enough to wrench my shoulder.

"I have captured the devil whose name is Pride…"

Never has it felt like this before, the power of this man invading my body, my mind, my soul. I am dizzy with it, terrified and exhilirated and oh my god I'm coming, coming, and his hand clutching my balls, pulling down, not letting me come oh god why are you stopping this and his teeth sink into my shoulder and he is coming, pounding against me like the ocean against the cliffs, relentless, dominant, unforgiving… And as tears flow from my eyes like rain his hand becomes gentle, stroking, urging, and I surge forward and…