Kill Me, Kiss Me

- KEIR -

   HIS fingers twitched by his side, to that mellow sound still vibrating through the air - it shouldn't exist in his house. But what is going on here? It did not originate from his mouth surely? He'd lost control. In that fleeting moment when his Pet slid his fingers through the thin twisting chains, green eyes glittering gold in the delicate reed of light that tumbled through his golden hair and across his smooth skin, tinted lips parting and glistening and bending downwards, eyebrows furrowing up and together in such an apparent display of distaste, he'd forgotten completely.

    Everything had shone white and ever blinding, and he'd forgotten, or perhaps, there'd been nothing there to remember and hold onto, his body simply escaped from the leash and followed through what had been most natural. But most natural, a laugh, a laugh as foreign as free and unrestrained and pure as that? When did that happen? His hands shook to feel that quiver within his chest.

    Strange, this new feeling, this twitching, this squirming inside him. He was sick. He must be. He couldn't let himself feel this tickling again, this genteel heat of unknown origin - it was an outsider, it did not belong to him, it prised at his control, stripped him of his authority of this piece of flesh that should've belonged to him even if nothing else did.

    He took a measured breath and straightened. But there, there again was that brilliance of green flooding his vision, there was the shock that stifled all the muddy frustration and anger and the hesitation, and now stifled, those eyes shone brighter than ever, colours cleaned into a simple emerald that shone with light. There was no barrier, not even a sheet of fear between them, his Pet's gaze was directed completely at him, given completely to him, containing him completely - that figure in black swimming in the sea of green.

    His chest grew tight, that itch surging into electrical sparks that pulsed to his head, through his limbs to his hands and now they itched to stroke those soft golden spikes that he yearned to dye a dark mahogany brown. That colour would suit him and make him even prettier than he was.

    Extending his fingers, he started to lift his arm when the face in the glass's reflection caught him by the throat. Who was that man? That man with his eyes wide, with his face bare and exposed that nothing could be hidden, with his lips parted as if he was lost for breath and words. How pure that man looked, how defenceless, how hateful!

He was not made to look like that.

He would not forget.

    His hands snapped shut, his jaw tightened, and he stamped the sparks out one by one, dousing each shift and protest with coldness. He would not allow that man to look like that. He would not allow this feeling to exist ever again. This pet was dangerous; he couldn't keep him. He'd shoot him in the neck, a neat circular shot with only a small burn, and he'd watch those eyes dampen and go glassy with perfection, and after, he'd be allowed to stroke that head as many times as he wanted, he'd dye it a splendid brown, he'd dress him in more finery, and this time, he'd embalm him, he wouldn't allow him to rot.

Blood pounded through his body, leaving molten trails of fever in his limbs and cheeks, the joy, the joy of that— Ah, that twitch in his chest had only been an anomaly. He was just fine, and there was nothing wrong. So just once, just once more, another chance, he wanted to play more...Would Pet's cries be as sweet as the defiance he mustered even though he was shaking? It would be the finest...

"Shoes are in the box."

The rustle of cloth on cloth echoed from behind, and he closed his eyes, fingers massaging the cold chain in his pocket. He could imagine it - his pet's tall frame bending, rounded butt extended in the air, dark nipples exposed to the air, boots drawing out each unbroken line of his firm calves and fragile ankles. Yes, he could leave the farewell for later, it would be a shame to end it now.

...He did not want to end it now.

The sense of danger returned with its muted scent of citrus and peppermint. He was the one in control. He could end this farce anytime he wanted, but it didn't end because he chose not to. Not to end because the way his pet fought to keep the girl alive had been amusing, because the moment his pet threw the body in the furnace, it had been exhilarating, because the gleam that shone from his pet's proportionate body made his crotch a little tighter, because he wanted to see his pet cry and beg and break into a thousand pieces, until he could not even be recognised as the man he once was. Not because of anything else.

    "Come here."

    The rustle of cloth neared along with those calm, steady steps. He could smell that sweet tang of citrus now, and his fingers intertwined with the chain in his pocket. He hoped this one would take a little longer to break, a little longer for that steadfast gaze of judgement to sour into fear and numbness, a little longer— He turned, and his breath stilled in his throat at the force of this man in front of him.

Because it was a man. Not a pet.

The way he looked at him, the sharp posture, searching eyes that scoured his face without the slightest trepidation. It was as if, he was looking at someone else instead of him, someone who stood in his place, possessed the same bearing but was not him, because he was not reflected in that look of awe and breathlessness. This Man in front of him looked like he'd been shot through the chest with a sight he'd never forget.

His fingers dug into the flesh of his palm, and he whipped the chain out of the dark. It did not matter who this man was looking at, it did not matter that he was still a man, once he was leashed, there was nowhere else he could run to, no one else he could go to, he would be broken and in the end, the only name he'd know is Keir. Keir.

He'll learn to only look for him,

There was none of the usual ceremony of blood baths and O Fortuna! There was only the simple click. And it was done. He chained this man to him. And even though he'd done this for every pet before, something became different. The air? The magnetic field around them? Something had shifted and the leash burnt heavy in his hand. It felt like the beginning of... an end.

Absurd.

He pulled hard, stalking through the right wing and trying to stifle the thrumming of his heart. This was not the finale, this was far from the finale, but why couldn't he shake off this sense of finality, of ruin? Something had clicked into place beyond his reach, like that glitch in his heart, thrice, and now the fourth, no, from the moment he'd seen the glint of an eye through the door in the office, a balance had been shifted, so - fifth, for the fifth time.

He needed to change it back.

Blowing past Setton, he threw open the car door and pushed the man into the vehicle, hands smarting the instant the leather handle fell from his hand. The car door slammed shut. The wind blew all fragments of citrus and peppermint away. He clenched and unclenched his hands, staring at the burgundy hood of the car. He needed to make a decision.

    Pulling open the driver's side, he sat into the soft leather and faced the man.

    Straight, noble nose, clear eyes rimmed with thick lashes, arched brows that kissed the face with a slight harshness, thin lips that spoke of discipline if not for the natural upwards curl. Too close, too close to the face he hated most. Too much, it pleased him too much. And if that hair, those shrewd eyes were deep brown...

"My face can't launch a thousand ships."

His voice flowed like coffee and liquid gold, full and rich in its tint of humour, as if they were having small talk in the sun with a glass of punch.

Too familiar - that little smile that extended those lips reflected in the glass.

For the sixth time, his heart prickled and surged.

    He couldn't let himself become weak like this. He had to kill this feeling now.

Raising his pistol, he fired.

He made his decision.

-

A/N: A special chapter for my lovely readers!