☆ Painting portraits of his obsession with the blood of his victims was his Deadly Infatuation ☆
"How dare he? How can he let someone other than Kim ever touch him? Does he not know? Is he not aware of who he belongs to? That his whole body belongs...
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The dead body weighs more than many people think. And it takes skilful hands and a masterful mind to get rid of it without anyone noticing. And Kim, well... he would call himself a master of it. This is his third body this month. And with every body, things are just getting easier, and his hunger for the real thing, stronger.
It's already past midnight, which means that it's exactly one year since his love is free. Since he belongs only to Kim. Kim smirks, throwing the body away, "today will be a good day."
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
The apartment is squeaky clean again. The only splashes of blood around are this time actually the red colour—the same which is on one of his colour palettes and many paint brushes he has absentmindedly lying around. Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake is melodiously spreading around the apartment, a glass of red wine is glistening in the first rays of morning sun and the cigarette smoke is curving around Kim's naked body as he is lying in bed, deep in his thoughts.
One day, he'll be lying in this bed just as he is now, but he won't be alone. He'll be buried deep in Porchay, watching Porchay crying from pleasure, pleasure that only Kim will ever give him. The pleasure he will never ever get from anyone else because Kim will kill again and again, whoever even dares to touch his love. His boy. His muse. His...
"Porchay..." Kim moans as he rubs his cock slowly, imagining Porchay's hand and those pretty plump lips making all his sinful dreams come true.
"Porchay... oh fuck fuck fuck so good... so... fuck!" Kim keeps panting and groaning, fucking his hand to the image of Porchay so pretty down on his knees taking Kim so well.
Kim lets out one more guttural groan and then his body goes limp. Everything slows down, the sun penetrates the windows illuminating Kim's caramel skin.
Slowly, Kim opens his eyes... he needs to see his Porchay, today.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
"See you at the next session, Porchay."
"I'll be here," Chay replies and leaves the doctor's office.
How is his urge to kill? Chay sighs, walking around the evening streets of Bangkok. It's fine. His urge is fine. It's hibernating deep inside of him since Josh was murdered. This whole thing—the urge to murder since he was a child... he knows he isn't normal. He knows there's something wrong with him, but that's exactly why he has chosen to be around death all the time. Maybe if he is on the right side of the law, he'll be able to keep that violent urge inside of him. Maybe all he needs is to see someone else committing the most vile of crimes to feed his own monster living deep inside of him. Because... Chay doesn't want to kill. He doesn't want to hurt others... he doesn't want to be a murderer. In his heart, he is a good person. He is. He is! But his mind... why does his mind keep playing with him? Why can't his mind agree with his heart? How can those two things inside of him keeping him alive... be so different?
