The Art of Living (Or To Die Trying) (boyxboy)

Chapter 14, Letdown

Just a 'lil warning, this one's a bit on the gory side. Just a bit though.

        Have a random picture of Des' car, by the way. :] And in case you missed the song last time Des was playing, here's the video for it again :] It's worth listening to!

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I'm shrouded in comfortable darkness, enveloped by warmth and I feel surprisingly calm and relaxed – safe, even. I am in that strange state between waking and slumber, where my eyes are still closed and my mind is drowsy and hazed and has just vaguely started to register the impressions of the outside world. I breathe in a soft scent which can only be described as soothing and somewhere at the back of my mind there's a rhythmic beat which ensnares my mind in a near hypnotizing way.

So far I'm more asleep than awake, though I am starting to come to, much to the dismay of my subconsciousness which wishes to stay in this comfortable state of foggy peacefulness. Urged by said wish I press my face into the source of the warmth beside me, clinging to it and inhaling its scent. It's soft and warm and feels nice against my skin and vaguely I begin to notice that the lulling beat is actually more of a thumping, and the more my still sleeping mind focuses on it the more alluring it becomes.

My lips gingerly traverse the warm surface as I nuzzle it, thumping growing stronger and within seconds it's all that I can hear, all that I can feel, the only thing which I am able to focus on, and I want to come even closer to it; to touch it, feel it, live it, breathe it and drink it in and—before I even am aware of what's happening there's a sharp blow to my head and the sweet warmth is ripped away from me, rudely snapping me awake to the cold, harsh reality of the outside world.

-”The fuck?!”

I'm dazed both from being so abruptly torn away from sleep but also from the blow to my head, which keeps me from pursuing the source of the warmth which I still crave, and instead I'm left bewildered, blinking in an attempt to organize my thoughts and gain some sense of orientation.

-”Jesus fucking—!” Through a haze of red I notice Vivian half beside, half underneath me, one hand pressed against the base of his throat and the other firmly planted against my chest, and it dawns upon me that the voice uttering curses belongs to him, though this thought and every other coherent one I may or may not have had is swept away as soon as my mind registers the metallic taste in my mouth.

I catch the scent of blood from beneath his palm and a low sound emerges from deep within my throat and comes out as something resembling a purr mixed with a soft growl as I press down towards the source of the scent. His hand on my chest keeps me at a distance though, and I immediately begin to grow impatient and a little bit annoyed, and the sound in my throat changes into more of a growl and less of a purr, and there's a sudden whiff of adrenaline in the air as said substance starts to course through his veins.

His lips are moving and sounds are coming out, though I fail to catch the words as my mind deems them unimportant, and suddenly he removes the hand from his throat and the metallic scent hits me with full force. Disoriented by it as I am I pause for a split second instead of diving down towards the seeping wound, and suddenly his hand comes barreling towards my face. This I react to though, and before it makes impact my own hand has snatched a secure grip on his wrist, stopping his hand a mere inch from my skin.

He jerks his arm, trying to break free but stands no chance against my iron-hold, and completely unfazed by his feeble attempts I part my lips, close the distance between his hand and my head and slowly press my tongue against his palm. My eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering shut, as I lick the blood from his hand, and I barely notice that he's grown still.