Bleak Star

Bleak Star Bleak (Encarta): 14th century. From Old Norse bleikr, “pale, white, shining.” No, it was the wind speaking, rustling the dead leaves in the treetops. Dry death. Empty sky. It could not be...the voice. It was all different now in the house. All quiet, but laden and energized with the presence of the young man downstairs...the pale, beautiful man...the one who had been dancing under the moon. Now he was chained and locked behind bars, captured and crushed by human hands. Could they really blame him for his anger? Victor tossed and turned in his bed. The linen was damp from his restless body. He had shed his nightshirt to the floor and despite the chill he felt warm. There it was again, a whispering sound: Strange noises, probably the wind. But the wind had never spoken like this before he came. Came. Hidden. Wrapped in a grey blanket. The men who guided him inside were excited, red-faced. Their eyes shone with cold triumph, like steel blades, as if their prey were a stag or a bird, yet it was neither. It was a faerie. Victor had run downstairs with his younger brothers. His heart raced like the others, yet for other reasons than theirs. Finally, he thought. If their father had finally managed to trap one of these creatures…these mystical beings who so obsessed him...surely they could leave this place, this solitary house far away from people and home, and go back to the city where they belonged! His four brothers, who were all much younger than he, jumped up and down by the end of the long stairs, shouting and cheering: "Let us see it!" "Oh, father, let us see!" Victor, who had been doubtful of the existence of these beings, caught himself wondering just what was there, under the blanket. He assumed all these grown men could not be wrong, so it was probably not a stray boy or a madman. Still, he had never seen or heard of people dancing under the moon, other than from his father's tale of a vision from his youth, of something he had seen long ago. *** Victor's father was a scientist. His one goal after their mother's death had been to find these creatures and discover just where they fit in the evolution of mankind. They were so much like humans, he said, but also very different -- more like animals, yet not quite earthbound. Victor had grown up hearing these fairy tales, accepting them as a part of his graying father's mixed personality, unworrisome until the old had found them, again -- far away, this time, high up in the mountains. There had been sightings, he said. Many of them! Victor had shrugged and shook his head. Lone farmers and simple women were not exactly what he would deem trustworthy. But he had no choice but to pack his belongings -- the whole household was moved to an empty estate, high up where the sky was closer and the air more clear, where the wind spoke at night, lonely and cold. Once before, the whole family had moved to an isolated castle where his father had heard rumors of sightings. Yet no creatures had been found, and so they had packed their belongings again and moved on. And as sure as his father claimed it was different this time Victor had strong doubts. He had studied his Latin and read his books, taught his brothers to train puppies and to ride, while waiting for their father to grow tired of it all...again. But then, that night, the shouting and the sound of horse’s hooves had awakened them. A local farmer had come riding, screaming, into the yard.

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"We have one! We have caught one! Master you must come, quick!" His father had rushed from the house still fastening his belt. He rode his stallion without a saddle that night, so eager was he to see what had walked into their trap. Victor and his brothers had sat by the window with a lit lamp, waiting for them, gazing out into the darkness. But Victor had not participated in his brothers' chatter. He'd felt strangely sad. Afraid that it was a misunderstanding and his father would stay to search longer, and afraid that it was a faerie, too. Because he knew his father had prepared a cage and a laboratory downstairs, that glass jars and scalpels were ready, shiny and new, placed in a row beside a little leather-clad bench. "Let us see!" his brothers cried again. And proudly, one of the farmers had taken pity on them and revealed the creature underneath before his father’s frightened “No!” had left his tongue. The creature was amazing. Victor had never seen anything like him. His skin was pale and looked soft like a child's. His anklelength hair held the color of pure midnight and shrouded his slender, naked body. His lips were a glistening red. And the eyes, they were not blue but a hundred shades of blue, like crushed glass or ice, each shard held its own color. Like the inside of a diamond or a blazing night sky falling apart, those eyes looked at Victor...just him. Serious and serene, he lifted one of slender hand to his throat and let it rest there. He seemed peaceful and undisturbed by the riot around him, as Victor's father tried to cover him again, knocking one young assistant to the floor. As the grey wool descended, the creature smiled -- with shiny, pointed fangs *** They locked him in the cellar, in a damp, stone room that smelled of moss and decay, behind a heavy wooden door, in the darkness. Victor could not stop thinking about him. Why had the creature stared at him? Why had he locked that peculiar faceted gaze with his own? And what of that little smile, the small, gleaming fangs? He pictured the creature dancing in the moonlight, cool light touching his shimmering skin, his gaze refracting the starlight, the long, long hair brushing against his thighs, swirling around his body as he danced. So beautiful, his mind kept thinking, so enchanting -- tall and slender, a dark, velvet flower, blossoming with petals of midnight and ice. While the rest of the household buzzed like bees, glancing at the cellar door with scared and curious looks, Victor felt a cold knot forming in his gut. He remembered the scalpels, the jars and the anatomy books, and his breath stilled in his throat every time his father entered the basement. Would there be blood on his vest when he returned? Suddenly it was more important than anything that his faerie was not hurt. He was not an animal or a human. He was more. He was something to kneel before and worship. The creature was tired, they said, didn't eat. Neither flowers nor fruits had been taken when offered. Neither did he want water or wine. The housemaids told whispered stories of courts in the mounds and the magic of the fey. Victor didn't listen to them. How could they chatter and whisper like that, while a creature of moon and stars was locked away in the dark? *** By the end of the second day, he finally got a chance to sneak down to the cellar. It was a strictly forbidden area for the boys, but his father's assistants and the local farmers had been up and down the stairs all day so the door was not locked. He seized his moment, grabbed an oil lamp and quickly made his way down the narrow stairs. He was scared and anxious, but worried above all. He knew well where the cell was, as his father had proudly shown it to them on the day of their arrival. It was easy to get there and have a look through the little square of iron bars set in the wooden door. file:///C|/Users/acer/Documents/Bleak%20Star.htm[11/2/2009 10:31:03 PM]

The faerie lay on his side, completely outstretched on a thin layer of dirty hay. His eyes were closed and his hands curled into fists. Victor sighed with awe. How beautiful he was! -His body was completely hairless, every limb was gently curved and the skin shimmered faintly in the light from his lamp. The thick hair was spread like a blanket, covering his hip, but not his manhood resting below. Victor saw it and blushed. Suddenly, the faerie's eyes opened. The same peculiar gaze that had captured him so the first night looked up at his face from the stone floor. Victor gasped, but forced himself to keep standing, even when the graceful faerie rose and cocked his head, still measuring him with that brilliant gaze, like water at night, deprived of all light but the stars. Then the faerie turned his back to him -- stood there, motionless. It stung, hurt more than it ought to. And Victor felt ashamed. How many men had been there that day to gaze upon this eerie beauty, maybe even touched him, examine him with curiosity? The thought made him angry. Tears of desperation and frustration gathered in his eyes. How could his father do this? How could he keep him caged like this? "I am so sorry," he said aloud. "I would do anything to help you!" he sobbed. "Just don't be angry with me...I couldn't bear it if you were angry with me...." When he looked at the faerie again he had turned his head and looked at Victor over his shoulder. He blinked once, twice against the light from Victor's lamp. A black fan of lashes briefly covered the shifting explosion of color and slowly, slowly he turned around and revealed his pale body to Victor again. When he walked it was with gliding steps, graceful and slow, until he reached the wooden door and the bars. Suddenly, all Victor could see was his face. His eyes were so close he could see every shade of blue in them. The faerie's lips were parted. Victor could feel his breath on his own skin -- a shiver ran down his spine. He himself dared not breathe, he was too afraid he'd break the spell. Two fingers reached out between the bars. The fingernails were long, Victor noticed, slightly curved and thick, reminding him a little of claws. The fingers touched his cheek with soft pads, pressing them gently against his skin. Victor finally let out his breath. Without thinking he turned his head and pressed his lips to the faerie's fingers. They felt soft and fine against his lips, scented of musk and woodland, a strangely masculine scent for such a delicate being. But he adored it – oh, yes, he did. He looked up and their gazes locked. The faerie's twinkled and shone like stars, and he briefly wondered how his own brown ones appeared to the other. His lips were again slightly parted and Victor found them strangely tempting, reminding him of ripe, gleaming cherries bursting with flavor. He didn't mind that the faerie was male. It meant nothing. This passion knew no reason. A door closed somewhere in the cellar and their moment was gone. Victor startled away from the door and left the faerie's fingers empty, naked looking, stretching out in the air. "I will be back!" Victor promised hastily. "I will help you, I swear!" he said as loud as he dared. Sorrow rose and screamed in his chest as he turned and left his imprisoned moon faerie to suffer alone in the dark. *** "What will you do with him?" Victor asked his father. "Shall you keep him locked up forever?" His father stared at him without really seeing and shrugged, but didn’t answer. He had taken Victor's brothers to see the faerie again the same night. Victor had refused. He would never look at him for merriment. And according to the boys, the faerie had been most disappointing as well. He had stood with his back to the door the whole time, refusing to look at them, even when called for. file:///C|/Users/acer/Documents/Bleak%20Star.htm[11/2/2009 10:31:03 PM]

"He is not an animal," Victor told them. "He can’t be tempted with sugar like a horse." Victor kept a close watch on his father, imagined himself finding the keys and freeing the prisoner. It would not be easy, though, as his father carried the only key on a chain around his neck. "Why are you keeping him down there?" he asked at dinner. "You can’t treat him like an animal." Yet he knew that was exactly what his father was about to do: chain him to a bench and use his scalpels on him. "You are going to cut him up! Aren't you?" His father hardly offered him a glance "Not yet," he said. "I will first have to examine his habits, find out what he likes and doesn't like...." "Well, you can't even make him eat!" Victor spat. "So how are you supposed to find out, if he dies of starvation?" His father slowly shook his head. "Sometimes you remind me so much of your mother," he said in a sad voice. "It is science. Apparently you have no head for that." From this, Victor concluded, all his father would really do was to stand outside the locked door and marvel at his finding. He felt insanely jealous. He would like to do that, too. "Let me help!" he offered. But his father shook his head again. Three days went by and still the faerie did not eat, even when they brought him mushrooms and vegetables, roots and nuts.... The fourth night Victor crept down to the cellar again, with only a candle to light his way. He was worried and excited like last time, maybe more so, because he knew the faerie wasn't happy. His brothers had gone to see him again, but he had not moved at all, they complained. Shrouded in his own hair he had sat in a corner. "He might not be an animal," the oldest one said, "but he surely does act like one." The remark had made Victor angry, and he’d had to restrain himself from slapping the other across the mouth. When he approached the dark room this time, a scent of fur and earth greeted him, somehow sweet and not at all foul. He didn't relieve himself, his brothers had marvelled. He did not seem to have such needs. No wonder, Victor thought, if he didn't eat.... The faerie sat as described, curled up in a corner, almost one with the shadows of the cell. Victor just looked at him for a while -- his long hair, the slender limbs. "I love you," Victor murmured. His fingers caressed the bars of his loved one's prison, and he wondered briefly if the faerie would find him to his liking. His hair was wavy and brown and his skin tanned, not like the milky beauty of the other at all. "Will you not look at me?" he begged and inwardly renewed his vow to free him. "It is all right," he added. "You don't have to...I will just stay and look at you for a short while." He lifted his candle a little higher and swallowed hard at the sight of the lonely creature inside. He had to look away so as not to cry. When he looked back, the creature was not there. "Oh!" he startled back and gave another gasp when the faerie suddenly reappeared without a word, just on the other side of the bars. He did not look healthy, Victor saw, while his hand that held the candle shook, spilling wax onto the stone floor. The moondancer's complexion had turned a sickly shade of grey, and his eyes were burning black and feverish. "Oh, God! How can he do this to you?!" Victor despaired. "How can he? How can he?!" He forced his tears back. The faerie's slender fingers pushed out between the bars again, motioning him closer. Victor sniffled quietly and took a step forward. With a hammering heart he leaned his cheek to the faerie's fingers, feeling the soft caress of them. The pale mask in the dim light captured him once again, and Victor could not help but gaze and swear he would give everything he had to be closer.

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He leaned his forehead against the wood above the bars. The faerie did the same. They were so close now their breath mingled, those red, red lips so temptingly close. A pink tongue peeked out and reached between the bars. With a sob, Victor mirrored the gesture, not knowing if this was the faerie's intention or not. The excitement and the despair made it hard for him to think clearly. Their tongues met and caressed, slowly tasting and stroking while violent shivers ran through Victor's body and made his limbs feel powerless and his blood run hot. He closed his eyes and moaned. Two of his fingers entwined with the faerie's. It was raw and needy, this...lust and dizzying hunger. The pink tongue danced along his own, taking pauses to dip back inside the warmth of his mouth and reappear moist and flavored. Every half-inch explored was a pleasure, a pleasure that Victor had never known before. He rubbed his body against the wood in longing for fulfillment, while small noises of lust spilled from his throat. They stood like that, pressed to the wood on either side of the door for an hour, maybe more, until exhaustion and the shrinking flame forced Victor to leave his lover. He pressed his lips hard to the two fingers as a goodbye. "I won't forget this," he said in a voice thick with emotions. "I shall free you," he said, "no matter what it takes!" When he turned around one last time he saw that the faerie was looking at him with an expression of lonely longing in his eyes. It cut to his heart, and left it bleeding. *** It was about that time that the whispers became noticeable. And when he first heard them, he realized they had been there for a while, slowly increasing in strength.... Peculiar words were whispered at night -- words that spoke, not only to the ear, but the heart as well. They reminded him of the wind, yet was not...strange syllables rolled from a tongue and mouthed into the night. They made him hungry, made him think of meat. And it was not just he who was affected; he saw at the breakfast table how his family's faces had turned pale from lack of sleep and proper rest. And all the while he felt helplessly drawn to the faerie downstairs. The strange words filling his head at night did naught but fuel the fire. How many crisp sheets he had stained with his want he did not know, but all he thought was to be close to his faerie's limber body, bathe in his light and be covered in his hair. He wanted to do unspeakable things to him, taste every fluid of his body, touch him and feel him, in pleasure and pain -- yet his faerie was not free and did not eat. "Have you tried meat?" Victor suggested to his father in another dinner conversation. "He has the teeth for it," he added. "Of course." His father's eyebrows lifted in the manner that told Victor he was a fool. "Both cooked and raw," he said. Victor noticed the same glazed expression in his father's eyes as that of the others in the household...the same as was mirrored in his own. Something was going on, but he dared not speak of it – could not speak it, even if he had wanted to. Instead he thought of the white, shimmering body, about being with him on a grassy meadow, on top of moist soil, being ridden like an animal in the moonlight. "Some animals will have their kills fresh," he said and repressed a lustful shiver. "I thought you said he was no animal," his brother said sourly from the other side of the table. "He is not," Victor said and blushed. "He is a faerie...." When the faerie made his first kill, Victor could not help but think, I told you so! and give his father a triumphant look. It was one of the three assistants, a university student who regarded this a field trip, who became the creature's first meal in the house. He had not been allowed to go in there in the first place, but somehow he had found another key and opened the door to the cell. His remains were carried up from the cellar covered in blood-soaked, white cloth.

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The servants murmured prayers. His brothers were scared. But Victor felt nothing. "I will have to chain him," his father declared, "and keep guard," he told the farmers that had gathered at the news. Victor stood on the stairs, shamelessly eavesdropping. "Kill him!" one said and Victor's heart skipped a beat. "No," his father said, intense. "It is all in the name of science. The foolish boy took a chance and now he's dead." "Have you even been in there yourself?" Victor heard someone ask. Victor's father paused. "I feed him, or try to. But I will not linger in there...yet." Victor thought about the scalpels and the jars and knew in the same instant that they would never be used. Oddly disturbing, however, or what should have been disturbing, was that the household continued their activities as if nothing had happened, except everything moved slower. The meals were served later and later, and the linen unchanged until nighttime...when the peculiar whispers would sound again, whispers and murmurs. By day they passed each other in silence, pale as shadows, haunted by no rest. Meals, too, were taken in silence, while the meat was served more and more bloody and raw -- as if cooking it were a disgrace. None of them finished their vegetables. Victor slept longer and longer in the day. Whenever he could he pleasured himself, touched his sore parts and imagined the faerie. Sometimes he cried in frustration and shame, but for the most part he yearned and watched the door to the cellar with possessiveness. He hated the new lock his father installed with a fury, and clawed at the unbending steel in unseen moments. I will get in there, he swore. No matter what it costs. Someone beat him to it, though. It was the third day after the murder, and he had taken his book and moved into the shadows of the patio, frantically trying to ignore his own aching arousal -- a hard column of lust that pounded against his stomach and reminded him of the taste of the faerie-man inside. Suddenly, a loud shriek made him drop his book, run inside and down the stairs as fast as he could. As he approached the faerie's cell, one of his father's assistants looked up at him with heaving chest. He had blood on his shirt and hands. "No, young master!" he cried. "You cannot be here...he has done it again!" Victor heedlessly pushed past the man and into the cell, terrified that the faerie had been harmed. He was not. But the servant girl on the floor stared up at the ceiling with empty eyes. Her oil lamp still stood on the cobblestones beside her body, as if she had put it down willingly and embraced her own death. Victor looked up at the clink of chains. His faerie was bound to the wall, the beautiful pale limbs forced into rings of iron. The sight made Victor hurt inside, made him want to scream with anger. The faerie smiled at him then, lips glistening and red with blood. His pretty, pointed fangs were showing at the corners of his mouth. Ecstatic with pleasure, Victor wanted nothing more right then, than to cross the floor and walk into his arms, lock himself inside that cage of pale, smooth skin and forge steel ties -- lick the blood off his lips...oh, yes, he wanted.... He smiled back at the creature, took a step, reached out an arm as if to touch him, when a hand grabbed the back of his neck, pulled him swiftly out of the room and shoved him to the floor head first. The world spun for a moment in the overwhelming pain. When he looked up he saw his father's furious face. He was pressing a handkerchief to a bleeding wound in his own scalp. "What are you doing down here?!" his father cried. "Don't you see that it is dangerous?" Victor didn't answer, just looked at him coolly. This was the man who held his lover imprisoned!

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"What happened, master?" Another assistant came running down the stairs. "She hit me with a candle stick and stole my keys," Victor's father replied hoarsely. "Now will you please assist my foolish son back up and have someone see to his head -- I may have knocked what was left of sense from him in my eagerness to see him safe!" The other assistant dragged the dead woman from the cell by her feet. "Stupid woman," his father muttered. "So weak...." "Come." The assistant took him in charge, his voice serious and frightened. "This is not something you should see...." But Victor thought it was. Who were they, anyway, to be this close to his beloved? The faerie was his mate, and his place was right there, beside him. *** Victor's father went into a fit of madness after that. He invited the local priest and spent hours with him in the chapel. Victor wandered restlessly outside the door, trying to overhear what was said. "No, I will not kill him!" his father raged. "Neither will I set him free!" His heart sank in his chest. Although a secret, buried part of him was in fact relieved by the answer, too -- better have him like that, or not at all? Shameful, yet true, he feared that, once free, the faerie would disappear, and he would never see him again. It was as if his heart and soul were already bound to him, and he felt they would both fade, if they were deprived of their source. All he was or had ever been was now forever linked to this being -- he would gladly offer him his own flesh to feed on, as long as he would remain near him. When the black-clad priest rode off, grave and serious, his father came storming into the house. "Black spells!" he cried. "We are all fallen under dark magic!" he alerted them, servants and sons alike. "I should have known!" The old man hit his own chest. "And it is all my fault!" he continued, tears streaming down his thin, old face. "We know nothing of these creatures! Nothing!" He grabbed one of the lamps and headed for the cellar. "And can any one of you swear to me," he said in a shivering voice, "just one of you swear you have not heard his calls in the night?" The hand that held the lamp shook when the old man opened the door to the cellar and disappeared down the stairs. Victor and his four brothers huddled in front of the fireplace, looking into the flames. The darkness outside seemed to suck all will to act from their bones. They absentmindedly drank their tea and waited for their father's return. When he finally reappeared, several silver pendants dangled from his hand, each carved with a sign. "Wear these," he commanded, nostrils flaring. "Wear them and never go without! These will prevent you from falling prey to the faerie's magic." Victor took the outstretched pendant as if caught in a dream. Slowly, slowly he lifted it above his head and let it drop around his neck. The change was instant. As soon as the cold silver touched his skin, it was as if he could truly see his surroundings again; the air became clearer, the scents and noises more harsh, more real and more present. It was like walking out of a fog somehow.... The faerie's mist lifted and his senses were restored. His younger brothers cried and embraced their father lovingly. His father cried as well. Victor only felt numb and disturbed. Lying in bed, he listened to the whispers, which he still could hear -- fainter, yes, but...still there. He felt on a peculiar mixture of rage and disappointment. Strange spells had been woven through the night, had enchanted their minds and turned them all into sleepwalkers -- all they did and all their thoughts had become slow and unclear, even his plans to save his faerie. Why should he wish to be saved? He was happy here, wasn't he -- where they were all in his power! He had ruled them all, a spider in his web, calling for them to feed him in exchange for pleasure and bliss. Was it all a lie? The thought cut through Victor's mind like a steel blade, made him fall apart inside. The faerie did not love him, never had. They were all pining for his touch. How many others had he lured downstairs to kiss through the bars and leave swooning with lust. And his father -- had he also been under the spell, lying restless at night and longing for the faerie? file:///C|/Users/acer/Documents/Bleak%20Star.htm[11/2/2009 10:31:03 PM]

No! It could not be so! His faerie loved him! He would not, could not think that he had touched another, promised another! He tossed and turned in his bed again, heard the peculiar words that were sung, calling for them, ensnaring them, wanting them to come. Only, with the pendant on his chest, he wasn't supposed to hear, wasn't supposed to want.... So why was it then, that he still felt this urge to walk down the narrow stairs, see his face again -- his beautiful face and his catlike smile, bloodied lips, faceted eyes.... They were powerful, these spells -- or was it truly his own heart speaking in longing for the other and craving for his touch? And the faerie? What did he want? Victor sobbed again and sat up in the bed. The pull from the cellar felt almost physical, now. He stood up and pulled a pair of trousers over his nightshirt. Still crying, he crossed the cold floor on shivering feet. There was only one way to find out, he thought, and clutched at the pendant. With gritted teeth he walked down the hall until he stood in front of his father's door. He opened it as silently as he could and stepped inside. The man was snoring. He walked over to his father's washing bowl and opened the small chest beside it. Having always had problems sleeping, his father always traveled with his sleeping powders. Victor found the little pouch and opened it. Carefully, he grabbed a handful and tiptoed over to the large oak bed, where his father lay sleeping on his side. He kneeled down, bringing his hand and face close to sleeper and blew the fine powder onto his face, under the nose. A steady stream of sleeping drugs was sucked inside his body with each breath. Victor waited and waited there on the icy floor, until the snoring stopped and his father went utterly still on the bed. Only when he leaned close could he hear him breathe. Then it was easy to loosen the chain and pull the keys from his nightshirt. They were warm against his palm. They were freedom. They were death. Victor left his father's room and began the long walk to the cellar entrance, bringing only a wax candle. The pull was stronger now, more powerful. He doubted he could have resisted even if he wanted. With clenched jaws and a heavy heart Victor put the key in the lock and turned it. The tears were back and he cursed them to hell! He didn't want to cry, he wanted to be angry, and yet.... Was it a wild hope that still lingered in his heart? Oh, yes! and the sweet spell of the male beyond. The door swung open. The bars were gone. With a last shivering breath, Victor stepped inside. "I am here," he called softly. He was scared. His blood ran cold and his legs felt unsteady, but there was also the excitement of being near him like this, smelling his scent, the mixture of musk and blood in the warm, damp room. The chained faerie rolled his head upwards, looked at him. Victor saw death there, but not his own. His faerie was fading, dying, crumbling into shadow. Yes, even if he should die with this creature's teeth buried in his flesh, it would be worth it if it only stopped the decay in his lover's soul. He lifted the keys and approached him, reached for his hand and waited. Slowly, the delicate, pale hand came to rest in his own larger, tanned one. He placed the small key in the lock and watched it spring open, freeing the beast from its cage. As the chain clinked to the floor, the faerie's eyes glowed a dark blue. And he thought he could see more life in there now. The closeness between them made it hard to think. He felt the other's radiating warmth; it called to him in a way no magical, whispered words could ever do. He had grown large and hard in his trousers, the blood-filled arousal pounded painfully, caught between the fabric and his stomach. He reached for the faerie's other hand; his skin was warm. Victor longed to touch all of him. He was greedy for it, hungered.... Was that how the others had felt it as well? Suddenly the freed faerie leaped forward, a hard push and Victor found himself knocked against the wall. The candle fell over and the scent of melted wax filled his nostrils in the pitch black darkness. The door to the corridor fell shut. He was disappointed. His faerie had fled as he should. He ought to be grateful to be alive. Instead it hurt that he never was to see the creature again. Never feel his arms around him, not even in the embrace of death. He knew it was a gift, that he was allowed to live, yet he would rather have died in the faerie's arms than live with his heart forever chained to the midnight file:///C|/Users/acer/Documents/Bleak%20Star.htm[11/2/2009 10:31:03 PM]

creature. Then a sound -- another's soft breathing. So, his faerie had not fled, after all! Relief mingled with fresh fear as Victor realized he still walked the edge between life and death. He took a step forward. The faerie did not move. Could he scent him? Did he feel the flow of his blood and desire it? He took another step. Still no movements in the dark, only the quiet breathing that told him someone was there. Did he enjoy this game -- his play with his prey? Victor didn't want to be played with; he wanted to be killed. Devoured...slowly.... He wanted to feel this killer's breath on his face. Yes, motion in the darkness, now thick with the scent of blood and wax. He moaned aloud when the hands of the faerie landed on his hips from behind. He could not help but grind his buttocks against the creature as his own hands closed on top of the faerie's. They were both silent now. Not moving. The length of the faerie's much desired body pressed against Victor's, and his breathing touched the sensitive skin of his bent neck. He offered himself up, his life and his blood. Yet, the faerie did not take it, merely slid his lips along the line of his neck and another slow moan escaped Victor's throat. A shiver of pleasure ran through his body and he leaned his weight on the faerie. His love did no more, though, than hold him and suddenly Victor despaired. "Oh, God!" he cried out. "Will you not have me?" A low chuckle sounded close to his ear. It was the most human sound he had ever heard him make and it made Victor startle. Startle enough to try to look at him in the darkness, to make sure it really was the faerie who stood behind him. He remembered the pendant he still carried, and he ripped it from his neck and tossed it to the floor. And so he ended up in the faerie's embrace at last, as the long, strong arms wound around his waist and captured him. In the intimacy of the darkness he suddenly found his hands tangled in smooth, heavy hair. "Oh, yes," he murmured and pressed himself closer, feeling already half-mad with the longing. The faerie nuzzled his neck again now, a sharp pain cut through his pleasure haze when the teeth sank into his flesh. Victor didn't mind; he was close to him now and that was all that mattered. The faerie's tongue lapped up his blood, but he didn't bite him again, didn't tear at his flesh with his teeth. Instead, he continued licking at his skin -- his neck, his chin and his jaw-line, and finally his lips. He brushed his tongue against Victor's, who moaned and gasped for air and let his head fall back, adjusting to the pressure of the other, as the faerie took possession of his mouth and sucked at his tongue, entwining it with his own. His hands squeezed and rubbed his buttocks, making Victor lightheaded with surging lust. It was almost painful, this state of bodily hunger. He pressed himself closer to grind against the slim body. The faerie grabbed his hips again and in one powerful motion tossed him to the floor where he landed in the hay. With a desire close to desperation he unclasped his belt and pushed his trousers down his hips. Oh, he hoped the faerie would want him as well, that it wasn't just he who was mad. The other landed on top of him with one knee on each side of Victor's body. The thick hair pooled down on his thighs and the warmth of his crotch touched Victor's. Yes, he was aroused; Victor could feel it now. The long, smooth hardness was hot against his own. The other's hands tugged at the fabric of his shirt and Victor's hands came to help him, only to be batted away by stronger arms. The faerie gave up on the buttons and ripped his shirt open. His hands were on Victor's chest now, roaming it with open palms. Sharp nails closed around his nipples and Victor cried out. It hurt, yes, but it was good, too -- sweet and painful at once. Their smooth, hard organs were rubbed hard against each other, leaking moisture that made them sticky and warm. And then Victor could hold himself back no longer, but cried out, spilling his seed between their bodies, soaking both organs, filling the air with its scent, replacing that of wax and fur. Victor moaned loudly under his and the faerie gave another low chuckle. Victor still struggled to breathe and calm his own body when he realized that his lover's slick hardness pressed against his belly; he could not help but reach down to stroke along the length of it, caress the damp, semen-slick hotness between their crotches. The faerie froze the moment Victor touched him and he wondered if he had done something wrong. Then the slender rod twitched in his hand, and although the other was silent, Victor knew that he was pleased. Victor smiled in the dark. It felt wonderful to please him. He let his hands slide to the faerie's hips and tried to pull him closer, further up.

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"Please," he murmured and the faerie obliged, letting himself drop forward so he rested on elbows and knees above him. Victor arched himself down until his face was level with the faerie's dripping hardness. He touched the smooth thighs at first, with lips and tongue, and then gently took hold of the creature's hips, urging him to lower himself, sit back on his knees so that he could take him in his mouth. The faerie did so, and from the shivers that ran through his body, Victor figured he was much aroused by it. He lapped at it, cleaned it of his own seed. Then he licked at the crescent slit. His faerie smelled like male, like animals in rut, like fur, although he was smooth. It had to be his long hair, Victor figured, while enjoying the taste on his tongue. The droplets of salt reminded him of the ocean, of shells and oysters and fresh, scaled fish – and a hint of iron, the taste of blood. He opened his mouth wider and took him inside. The smooth cock fit wonderfully. It was like sucking on a piece of hard caramel, the kind that lasted and never melted, giving off sweet flavor and smearing his mouth with smooth cream. God, how he wanted this to last! His fingers ran across the plum-shaped, smooth sack hanging behind the straining member. It was full and taut and heavy with juices. The male musk spoke to his senses. His own member grew thick and full again while he greedily tasted the faerie. Alas, before long he was deprived of his treasure. The faerie withdrew and crawled back down to land on top of Victor with a grunting sound. Their lips reconnected and Victor shared the taste of him with the other, plundering inside his mouth with his tongue while curling his arms around the faerie's shoulders, and enjoying the feel of slender hands down his sides -- the warmth of him, the silken skin, the cool hair coiling on his body. It made him squirm and moan and long for completion. God, don't let me die before it happens, he silently prayed, not before tasting the pleasure! The faerie's lips slid down his chest and closed around a nipple. His small, sharp teeth nibbled at it, bit him, but not too hard, just enough to make him gasp and his nipples to turn into hard knots of puckered flesh. His own hardness was resting in a pool of sticky fluid. The faerie was licking at it now, seemingly sniffing at it. He dipped his finger in the new fluid and smeared it across Victor's stomach, trailing it down beside his hardness, down to his sack and behind it, until he reached the small opening. Victor spread his legs, lifted his hips from the ground, and gave a hoarse cry as the long-nailed finger sank inside. The faerie's head rested on Victor's thigh while his finger moved inside of him. He took hold of Victor's arousal with his other hand, making the youth shiver and moan and toss his head. Victor tried to move his hips but could not. "Please have me," he breathed. "Just have me...." Even if death came more quickly, even if he was signing a pact with time.... He could neither live nor die without having felt this union. The faerie did seem to understand. He withdrew his finger and shifted atop him once more. Without hesitation, Victor kicked off his trousers completely and spread his legs wider, bending his knees, to fully open himself to the other -- just like an animal to its mate. This was what it was like, was it not? When nature had singled out the one to whom you would belong, the one you would give yourself to freely -- body, blood and soul...even your life. The faerie's long arousal pressed against his entrance and forced itself inside. It hurt; his muscle was not made for this. But the satisfaction of feeling him filling his insides was so sweet. the pain meant naught. Instead he held on to him, desperately. Held on and held him close, bit his own lip till it bled and the pain became bearable. The low chuckle came again from the strange creature who was coupling with him. The sound that made him seem almost...human. He withdrew slowly and forced his way back inside again, moistening and loosening the muscle as he did so. It was not so painful now. As the pace increased, Victor relaxed and gave himself over to the power of it, and as soon as he did the pleasure came -- surging, needing pleasure.... The faerie was resting on his outstretched arms and grunted again as his hips rhythmically pounded his hard member inside Victor's body. Victor's hand reached between them and curled around his own manhood, stroking it roughly in time with the trusts. Suddenly an explosion of pleasure made him cry out. The faerie moaned and angled himself so that the pleasure came back when he thrust inside. Victor writhed in the hay and squeezed his own organ almost painfully hard every time the pleasure returned. file:///C|/Users/acer/Documents/Bleak%20Star.htm[11/2/2009 10:31:03 PM]

Their sweat slick, warm bodies rocked against each other, and straws of hay plastered to their skin and mingled in the strands of midnight hair. "Ai!" Victor cried. "This is too sweet!" And so he spilled himself again, over his hand and across the faerie's stomach. The faerie, too, released right after: He sighed deeply and flooded Victor's insides with rich amounts of hot fluid. He was still so sensitive, tingling and warm from his own release, and the pleasure of pleasuring his lover made the breath catch in his throat and his head swim with joyful bliss.... The faerie instantly slipped out of his body to rest himself on top of him. A small trickle of liquid followed him and ran down between Victor's buttocks. They held on to each other tightly, both of them warm and wet. Victor could feel the pounding of the other's heart and his ragged breathing -- the faerie had been enjoying this, too -- his body felt limp and soft on top of Victor. Every muscle seemed relaxed. The faerie's lips kissed him tenderly, soft now, not rough as before. He licked at the bleeding wound on Victor's lip and smeared the blood across his own lips.Then he shifted a little on top of him and leaned down as to kiss him again. Something warm dripped down in Victor's mouth from his lips -- iron taste of blood, but not his own. He let the flavor fill his mouth, rich and pure. He did not know why, but it was part of him and it was lovely. Droplets of his life force were offered to his mouth and he received them gratefully, just as he had taken his seed inside of him earlier. The faerie kissed his cheek, licked at his ear. "How do you love me, Victor?" The voice was deep and rich, just like the whispering in the night. A startled outburst escaped Victor's throat and his fists closed hard around handfuls of black hair. The creature chuckled into his ear. "Do you love me enough to die?" he asked sweetly. "I think you do," he answered his own question quietly. "I think you should know, before I take what is mine, that I love you too, sweet boy." With his heart pounding painfully hard in his chest, Victor could do nothing, only feel the warm lips slide down to his artery and puncture the thin surface skin. And then there was darkness and warm quiet night. The sky was blue velvet and filled with pale stars. The flowers on the meadow danced around and around, their petals moist with the dew of his own living blood. *** Victor's fist hit his father's face and startled him from his sleep. The man looked older now, worn from the strife. The loss of his son and the escape of the faerie -- Victor wondered for whom he'd grieved the most. "Victor...!" The old man's voice shivered with fear. His eyes were wide and rimmed with red. Victor sat on top of the embroidered covers and cocked his head. He knew his father would be frightened by the sight -- by the shattered gaze, by the faceted brown. "I just came by to tell you," he said sweetly, smiling, "that you can end your quest. There are no such thing as faeries." He smiled again and exposed his fangs. ~ The End ~

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