I need you.
Sometimes, I don't understand why you can't see me. I think I was made for
you, the way we match and mesh so well. I give you what you need: a face to put
to your enemy, a body to earth your rage in, bloodied information that you'd
never obtain by your own white-knight methods. In return, my own truths are
understood; my motives laid out before me like a sacrifice. I never see myself
so clearly as when I'm with you, under you, face down on the floor and loving
it. But then, I remember that I am made for other things as well; for darkness
and betrayal, the spinning of lies and the spilling of blood. These things I've
done, you can't forgive—
—but sometimes, it seems that you forget; and I take those times and pull. I
want you to know me. I want you to feel what I feel, see what I see, know what
I know. I want you to take it all into yourself and make it your own, find the
matching places in your heart and bind us together with threads of steel and
needles of bone. I don't hesitate to take you when you are like this, to let
you use me. When we touch, we become one; every unexpected blow connects us,
every kiss of lips and fists and cocks. Our bodies strive for their pleasure
together, uncaring of our learned divide; and come together, a blaze of fire
that sears away all the shadows between us, and leaves only us.
Then you come back to yourself. You remember who I am, and what I've done—and
we are alone again.
I won't apologise for what I've done. I do what is required, as do you. We
work for the same cause, though I won't ever let you know that. I wouldn't if I
could: it's a challenge to see if I can catch you anyway, break down those
white-collar barriers with nothing but my body and the call of like soul to
like. I don't fool myself, it's not likely – but then, these necessary
interludes are their own reward.
I rise, my body approving of my plan. Dark, supple leather and denim on my skin
to bait you with. Coded secrets on a disk slipped into the front pocket of my
jeans to warm itself with the fever-heat of my blood. Slick, black gloves for
you to push between my teeth as I take my reward, their scent curling heavy in
the air and on my tongue. I slide my weapons home and leave. It's not yet the
night when you will see the truth of what lies between us, but in the dark
mean-time, I will have what I can. I will wait for the end of things, when the
memory of this will take me into the blackness—where I will wait for you.
fin
In Darkness
by Revenant
Demands of the flesh pull at me in the darkness with sticky, honeyed paws.
Inertia battles with the unsatisfied itch as I lie in the easy shadows of night
and unreality, comfortably cocooned in the hoarded warmth of my own body. The
knowledge that this need will fade as the dawn blushes over the horizon is an
abstract and unlovely thing, and I ignore it easily as men ever do. Images of
you drift out of my subconscious with little prompting. They serve for now, but
I have been too long without you, and the edges have started to blur and fray
from overuse, like old, worn videotape. I need to see you again. I need to
hear your voice.
