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𝑂𝑁𝐸 ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ ᴏғ ᴀ ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ
❦
His skin felt like used sandpaper: buffered and grimy, layered in a thin coating of sweat. There was a smell in the air- his scent of heavy musk and salt, the tinge of berries laying beneath, the same ripened raspberries that were crushed beneath his boots, strewn across the floor. In the dark, neither could see anything but outlines, faint shapes and silhouettes, like a brief sketch smothered in dense coatings of charcoal.
Cillian dragged his hands across the man's body with the intensity he was known and wanted for. The vigour he carried at his fingertips was like electric, sending ripples of shock through his arms and legs, making his chest shiver and quake. With a tight groan, Cillian's movements were met with ardour, with a hunger, a craving- one that only he could feed.
Beneath his body, Cillian could hear the man's breath hitch as his hand trailed across bare skin, pressing into soft flesh, slipping easily beneath a loose waistband. He went further, moving automatically, unwillingly, knowing what the man silently asked for. Even in the dark Cillian could feel the heat of his gaze, watching him with parted lips, waiting for him to finish, taking pleasure in the stilled look that enshrouded in shadows, hanging above him.
How could one bear to look at the face of a killer? By replacing it with another. Cillian had stopped being Cillian when he murdered his first tribute. He'd stopped being himself when the Capitol got their hands on him. When they looked at him- when his clients looked at him- they saw what they wanted to see: a lover in disguise or a secret worth keeping.
He didn't look like a killer- the good ones never did. His muscles were lean, his eyes a warm brown, and smooth skin glazed with a brownish-gold that give him the appearance of a painted statue, too unreal to be human. But then again, a boy from the districts was not human to begin with. He was more beast in the eyes of the Capitol, not up to the mental capacity of their superior citizens.
But he watched them. He watched them with his lowered eyes- darkened and sultry- eyes that they wanted him for, and he watched them with an intensity that was masked with sexual desire. Their lust radiated like fire, hazing the air like smoke, blinding them to the snake that hid behind his gaze, behind his tongue.
He watched the man now, as his chest heaved against the bed, his muscles too weak to move. The man's head tilted upwards, and under the cover of shadows, Cillian could see the gleam in his eye, that jarring glint of achievement, as if he'd conquered the true prize for his efforts.
"I feel as if it was months since I saw you last," the man- Osiris, he remembered at the sound of his lowered voice- leaned his head back as he spoke. Cillian didn't say anything. "But the wait was worth it."
