The Winter Cynic (ruinedcross) wrote in butterflysleep,
The Winter Cynic

To start with, I'm introducing my original work. This is The Feeding, a part of the Schweigen continuum.
W A R N I N G S: Blood, gore, murder, occult, homosexuality, angst.
R A T E D: PG-13

The Feeding

A Winter Cynic original, written for the Autumn Poet, featuring their original characters from the continuum, Schweigen.

The air was tense, heavy and humid. It made the very motion of lifting his face up a tedious task. Beyond the haze of smog and city lights were weakly sparkling stars, near impossible to see in the wake of the moon, rising slow and majestically in a new gown. Crimson, flowing around her, the very color of blood.

“Tonight,” he whispered, turning slowly to his companion, his eyes meeting dazed golden amber and feeling the familiar aching around his heart. “Tonight,” he repeated, swallowing hard to ease his throat. “You feed.”

The whisper of a smile was haunting, distant yet most definitely affectionate as pale hands grasped one of his and brought it to paler lips, the kiss cold then warming as his companion’s mouth opened to lick at the skin. The raven haired man wondered, thoughts a pounding river behind the calm of his dark red eyes. Did his companion taste the salt, the still human oil from his pores? Or was it all blood, pounding underneath throat the veins blue through the covering? The heat from the tongue made every single hair stand on end, drawing a shudder from him as he pulled his hand away gently.

“Alex…” his voice was soft, broken. “I wish I could have stopped her.”

Pale blue-silver brows furrowed, just by a fraction as the silent one slowly shook his head. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them until breath that should not have been warm grazed over tightening lips. His arms were are strong as they had been before, perhaps stronger now with the infusion, and they easily wound around him to bring his body forward, his companion’s head settling against his shoulder even with their height and size so much alike that it was almost awkward. “Emmy…”

A pet name. That one which spoke so much that would only be left unsaid. Heat welled up behind eyes narrowed sadly as his own arms encircled his lover, holding him tight in unspoken desperation. “Alex, come. The night is ripe and you need much.”

The smile grew chilly as he nodded. “Emmy.” It had always been monotone, the very presence before him a pale shadow of life. But somehow, in those two syllables, there was everything. Ascension, dependence, confession. Regret. It would have all been so much easier to see if it actually registered in the light of his eyes but there was only dazed helplessness.

The younger man bowed his head, his ragged bangs falling in place to curtain his eyes as he drew his lover securely against him. A breeze came, softly rustling his long cloak before it broke into stillness. Crimson and black erupted at his back, pulsing, throbbing as if alive, nightmarish fire, before it surrounded them and they were gone, propelled into the sky and towards the city.
Just breathing seemed to make too much noise. It was uneven, short, shallow and too quick. His feet carried him clumsily through the back streets, dodging lights and hiding in shadows, too afraid to look back. He never noticed the puddle ahead.

One foot plunged in, the splash reaching half way up to the knee. He cursed, feeling the dank water seeping into his shoe and sock, but he did not stop. He couldn’t, even if his body pleaded that he should. The night air chilled his heated skin, setting joints and muscles afire with aches.

How much farther away? He couldn’t have been followed so far. No, his runner’s legs should have brought him to a safe distance. He could slow down, just a bit, couldn’t he, to stop his heart’s aching?

No! Just run damn it! Run, run, run, run, run-the dead can’t follow, idiot! Once dead they stay dead! It’s just one of them shitty pranks. They’re just pulling a prank on you, good ol’ frat bros-it’s a prank-!


The stop came so abruptly that almost fell back, managing to catch himself on the emergency stairway behind him. His body decided to make best of the situation to rest, to somehow recover and it was completely frozen. The beating too fast ache of his heart was not alleviated at the least bit as he stared, eyes wide and taking in every detail.

Only one thought skimmed the surface of his mind. You’re dead!

“Darling…?” White hair moved in a wind that was not there, white lips quivering in distress but trying still not to succumb to hysterics. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

He started shaking his head, slowly at first before the movement whipped his wild hair around his face, lashing at his cheeks. “No…” It was a groan, low and tapering off into a sob. “No, no, no…”

She moved, long skirt billowing around her legs and hiding her feet. She looked as if she was floating, trying to imitate only the human way of walking. “Andy…?” White hands reached out, silver tears catching light as they slid down. “Darling, I’m sorry…I never meant to hurt you…”

“Diana…” His voice quivered as he spoke, soft and blasphemous. You never call the dead, you never want to play host to them. But he never had! Move! You have to keep going! Run, damn it, run!

She drew closer, a nymph on air as he’d painted her many a time, but the eyes! The distance between them was halved and within a breath’s reach, he could see the pure white of her eyes. Her touch was ice to his skin, fingertips grazing lightly over the stubble of two days, as she meant to cup his face. “Would you ever forgive me, darling? I never meant to-I…I was being foolish…Please?”

The voice was hollow and an imitation to the bell melody he was so in love with. Dead. He was seized with panic and the horrible memory. Dead. Blood on the tiles, Diana on the floor with her pretty head cracked, underneath her hand an apology in her letter, an explanation. Dead. He did not give her a chance to make him understand; he couldn’t. Dead.

He would not give her one now.

His hand came up to roughly push her away-Lord, she was real!-recognizing the lace of her shirt against his touch, in a startling moment of pure clarity, as the one he bought for her in Paris. Her blank white eyes had only time to widen as a dart of black shot through her, her image fading, to take his face in a death hold. The world changed perspective as was lifted into the air, his vision focusing to complete the picture. A hand, fingers splayed out and the webbing between the fingers obscuring his view of the stranger’s face, giving him the only clue of warmth.

He wished he could scream.

It was dark in that alleyway, light too faint to see anything but he wondered why he could so distinctly make out crimson, burning bright and feral. What being could possibly have eyes like that? A demon, maybe, but did demons sound so human when they spoke? Did demons have a voice saturated with restrained emotion?

“This is my offering to the God of Blood.”

God of Blood? He blinked several times, trying to clear his eyes of tears borne out of fear. Cultist. It had to be. Maybe it was a stupid trick, some part of their ritual or something…Maybe they’d heard of him, the painter who killed his girlfriend, from around and decided to pick on him-

The train of thought was severed when a raw high pitched scream broke out from him, echoing off concrete building walls. His neck seared so badly with pain that he could actually feel the skin tearing and the liquid within burst forth. Sharp teeth had made the cut, mouth clamped over the wound from behind and sucking hard to keep even the smallest drops from escaping. His body tensed in pain fell slack, limbs robbed of all strength and draped over with lethargy. A pair of hands closed around his waist, fingers spread and tightening their hold on him with every greedy mouthful until his lower ribs broke, bone cutting through flesh and blood welling up on his clothes.

He heard a low humming, an accompaniment to his bones and shallow labored breathing. The man who held him in the air looked faintly sad, even with his demon eyes narrowed in indifference. The song…was a requiem, wasn’t it? “Child, lost in the realm of living, depart for the planes of Heaven.” The words registered in his head but the voice that fleshed them out was a simply slur of noise. Music. Sing me to sleep, demon. Everything starts fades into black, blurry and a veil of confusion…

Gulp, gulp, gulp. Ahhhhh…Those monster teeth releasing his neck, just for a split second before they bit down lower, at the junction of neck and shoulder to suckle more from fresh wounds. Darkness. Sweet, beautiful, heavy darkness. “Andy?” His eyelids grew heavy just as she appeared, white as she was before but smiling now and reaching out to him eagerly. He no longer had a reason to fear her. “We can be together now.” His life unfurled around him, smiles and tears and beautiful rainy mornings. He could forgive her now. Gulp, gulp, gulp. Her arms wrapped around him and he was gone, his heart pumping weakly until it ceased altogether.

His companion was the first to let go, sliding his teeth away and licking his stained lips before moving on to his hands. Life no longer remained in the body, no soul at all to sate his own hunger. He felt no remorse in throwing it aside, against the grimy wall violently enough to shatter the skull, brains smearing the contact surface. Let the corpse rest as it had let another rest.

Slowly, he turned to his beloved, done with one hand and eyes closed in pleasure, the warm new blood rushing through his veins and out into his limbs. It hurt him to simply look. Beautiful, yes. Blasphemous. Tragic. A mindless beings that lived on one simple need to feed.


The younger man looked up to meet golden eyes, the pain in his heart throbbing in response. Did he see the sorrow? Was it printed in every line and sinew? “Yes, Alex?”

The faint smile, the silent approach, the hug. I need you. I can’t be without you. There is nothing in this After Life.

His hand grasped his lover’s bloodied one and brought it to his mouth, lips parting to draw the fingers in to suck on them, fighting the urge to flinch at the copper taste. For your life, you must take theirs. This is the life of the Child of Darkness.

Emmy, I need you.

Laughter filled his ears but the source was nowhere but in his mind, the devil rattling his chains and sending his mockery up to the very ceilings of his prison. “Yes, yes, tragic lovers reunited! There is no happy ending!” The sounds were silence when he threw closed the door of the prison, forcing himself to only remember Alex, his darling lost to a Fate that was not his.

The gasp was soft and fragile on the air. His lover’s body easily fit against his, cradled perfectly, free hand fisted in the black of the younger man’s heavy cloak, pale against the color. “Emmy…I love you…”

The pain stabbed through his heart as he slid out the last finger, eyes sad beyond understanding as he held the silent one as tightly as he could against him. “The greatest tragedy of life is loving, isn’t it…Alex?”

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