Sick

Operation

Allen didn't feel anything besides a lukewarm ache in his chest. Shovelling another chunk of flesh into his mouth, he relished in the temporary warmth the thick blood gave, running down his throat. The meat was almost sweet but very tough, taking some time to chew before the American could swallow it, but it was like coppery Heaven on his tongue. His paused in his next mouth full to pull out a fragment of bone. He didn't mind bones so much, but he had spent so much time preparing this particular treat that it was annoying to encounter them. So much time and care into carving away at the carcass, stripping the veins and fat, to be left with the perfect cut of meat. He'd agonised over how to cook it but no, he couldn't bring himself to defile such wonderfully milky white skin.

A soft smile and another bite. Soft, delicate skin, marked only but galaxies of freckles. Oliver, his sweet gentle Oliver. Oh how he wished they could partake in this meal together, to see wonderfully sapphire eyes light up in appreciation of Allen's hard work providing for them. If things had just worked as they were meant to, his darling bride and he could be together right now, mingling warmth and not this dull pulsing. Allen would make do, of course he would, he had no other choice. And it wasn't his fault really, no it was Oliver that hadn't listened and he alone that had messed everything up. Allen was angry of course but he'd never dole out a punishment greater than the crime. He was a reasonable man, a bit unbalanced but reasonable.

Well at least he always told himself that, it wasn't like there was anyone to disagree. One final mouthful and he slumped into the kitchen counter, bloated and sated. That glorious feel of meat squirming through his digestive system made him feel so beautifully whole. Picking at the remaining bones with stained teeth, Allen's eyes rolled back into his head as his stomach groaned and gurgled. He was satisfied but felt a small twinge knowing that a meal would never be this fulfilling ever again, but he could deal with that, after all no other meal would mean so much to him.

Pulling himself up to his feet, he rummaged about the dirty counter top, shoving aside bones and knives and God knew what else. His grabbed hold of a zip lock bag and opening in, nose buried in soft tufts of orange hair. He revealed in the aroma, all fresh cakes and chamomile tea, so comforting and safe. He couldn't resist letting his fingertips dance over the top of the strands, but he wouldn't touch them. Oh no, not with his filthy unworthy hands. His stomach protested again and with some annoyance, Allen set his treasure down, nicely sealed mind you, and headed towards the bedroom.

Plush and fluffy sheets welcomed him and happily snuggled under the covers with childish glee. Rolling over he was met with milky blue eyes and chalky skin. He brushed a hollow cheek with a caring smile and softly kissed crackled and cold lips.

"Did you sleep alright, Doll?" He asked, but his bed mate gave no answer, eyes fixated on peeling ceiling paint. "I did something amazing today." He boasted, pulling the severed head to his chest and petting the matted hair. "Can you feel that Oliver? Can you feel yourself moving and wriggling inside me?"

He cracked a faltering smile, holding his beloved's head tightly to his body.

"Always. You'll be with me always."

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A/N: Not quite finished.