Ourselves : A BL Horror Novel

Ch 1: One Sided Love

(Trigger warning for violence )

Keaton Pravit looks at himself in the mirror for a long time as his crimson red blood rolls slowly down his face into his thin mustache of dark brown hairs from his crushed nose. His long slanted dark eyes follow the liquid's slow descent to his lips. A drop falls to the egg shell white porcelain sink from his kiss bruised lips. Behind him the older man who had abused him lays languid, nude and waiting in a sea of white sheets, dark red splotches were splattered across it where Keaton had lain a moment before. In the bed, the slenderly muscular man studied the long lean torso of the young man.

His shrewd amber eyes appraising the broad shoulders of the six foot five man, the bones of the spine showing under Keaton's skin, the wideness of his's hips and the pale vanilla of his skin drove the older man crazy. Each bruise his mouth or fist had created on the young man filled him with the sort of opulent joy children had when they shattered something. A quiet as loud as an oncoming train had filled the lavish suite after the blow had reached it's target.To Keaton, he didn't know which pain was worse. The growing ache of his most likely broken nose, or the searing burn between his legs where Yoshitaka had buried his large cock brutally moments before.

"You're never leaving the Syndicate Little Tiger, or me. Now, quiet that mouth before I pull each tooth from it. One by one, and come back to bed, to CryBaby." The Viper of the White Lotus Syndicate, Yoshitaka Heiachi said in a voice like velvet on your skin. He had listened to the desperate pleas his partner had said to him. The thought of the pair of men being free from this life made his rage awaken deep inside. Smooth and slow, the words washed over Keaton's soul reminding him what he was. A weapon, a body sold into service to the White Lotus Syndicate many years before by his own parents, to them he hadn't any more value than a few thousand dollars. Yoshitaka, his senior and handler for the mafia group had begun taking what he called "his bonus"only a year before. Keaton had foolishly believed their stolen time was something born from mutual emotional feelings. He had felt joy every time he made the older man smile. Every time they ate ramen after a job, the holidays when he was surprised to receive a small gift wrapped in black paper from his Senior.

But as the hand that had caressed his face crushed his nose, it had set fire to any of those thoughts. With trembling hands, he turned the ornate pearl and metal handle of the bathroom sink and waited until the water was warm to wash his face. At Nineteen years old he had grown into a tall handsome man, his Polish and Thai heritage shown in the dark vanilla hue of his skin. His thick dark brown hair, wild and straight stood up in places. A goatee of brown hair wrapped around his lips and went up the edges of his face, neatly trimmed. Washing the blood away took a great deal of effort, as he tried his best to avoid the new pain that was his nose.

With every movement of his hand, he weighed his options. Measuring the space to the bed, taking a mental list of the objects between the two of them. Yoshitaka had to die. Turning to look at the man in the bed, all his feelings turned to one. A feeling of malice, a fire burning him up from the inside out. He looked at the long rough bare feet,the tattoo of a viper along the left muscular hairy leg. The nest of black curls between his legs and the fat sleeping monster between his thighs painted red with his blood.

"Don't Keep me waiting," Yoshitaka said in a drawl of that velvet voice. Keaton feels himself smile, he doesn't comprehend the experience but he smiles. He felt his full bubblegum pink lips stretch into a impish grin that almost reached his cheeks. He wondered if this was madness? His large feet moved on their own. Slow steps forward, the soft lush maroon carpet beneath the soles of his long thin pale white feet felt nice to him. His eyes moving up the lean belly to the pectorals women found attractive. Keaton didn't know what he was doing, his mind had checked out of the scene and something more primal was driving his body. He watched from behind his eyes as Yoshitaka reached to the bedside table and grabbed the red pack of cigarettes and the bright orange plastic lighter. He tipped the pack back so one slid onto those thin lips. For a moment there was flash of memory, Keaton remembered those lips on his neck. Sucking deep on the artery there.He felt them then, in that second long flash of sensory memory. It had hurt the way his teeth had bit down on the skin above the artery.There was no pleasure in it, just the feeling of being prey caught in the jaws of a predator who wanted nothing more than to rip him apart.With a blink it was gone, he was back to being the passenger in a scene of bad behavior.

The flash of the flame kissed the tip of the cigarette and it was lit burning letting thin streams of smoke roll up to the ceiling. To the mirror that spanned the entire bed showing the two naked men beneath .Keaton leaned forward, his large hands on the mattress, his eyes meeting Yoshitaka's as he moved forward. They are both tall men,long lean torsos and long legs. Hours in the gym trained the fat off their bodies. A expansive tattoo of a white tiger tearing itself free from Keaton's back, moved with each movement of his body. It was as-if the tiger itself was alive as he crawled up the body of Yoshitaka,until they were face to face, inches apart, breathing the same air.The smile never faltered, Yoshitaka watched him with . To him, the young man that he had raised like a son had become nothing more than a bitch whose sole purpose was to please him. He didn't see the lunacy in those dilated pupils. The close proximity of Keaton was causing a tightness in his abdomen and his cock to stir.

Raising the cigarette to his lips he drew in a long breath of the bittersweet smoke before blowing it into the younger man's face in thick smoky curls. Keaton's lips turned into a small O shape as he inhaled some-of it and blew it out of his nostrils. Yoshitaka enjoyed this, the submission of the action and placed the cigarette between Keaton's full light pink lips. Keaton leaned back and took a drag. He felt the smoke run through his mouth and down his throat. It burned but he kept his composure. He blew it out slowly. In one swift movement he gripped Yoshitaka by the throat with one of his large hands, and plunged the cherry of the cigarette in his left eye. Keaton tightened his thighs against either side of Yoshitaka, the screams of pure agony created a bliss in Keaton he had never felt. Leaving the cigarette there he wrapped both hands around that long thin neck, his thumbs jamming hard against his windpipe, crushing it.

The-moist sound of gagging replaced the scream, fingernails scratched at his hands, at his arms. Keaton didn't feel the pain of them. Just the ever increasing feeling of bliss as the body beneath him spasmed and kicked. It isn't instantaneous. Choking someone to death, in-the movies it only takes a second, a brief moment of the hands closing the airway and it's done. This took minutes. Minutes of writhing, Yoshitaka fighting his student for his life. He struggled against the younger man but Keaton held firm to his neck. Finally the body stilled, a silence of finality filled the room then. It didn't last as Keaton returns to his body and the horror and the finality move him too tears. He weeps at first, one large tear rolling down his cheek, then another from the other eye, then they turn to sobs as he looks down at the body of the man who raised him for the last decade of his life.

The bliss has evaporated like a summer rain once the sun no longer allows the wetness to exist. His mouth was dry from leaving it open and gasping for air, he looked at Yoshitaka's face. One solitary tear formed in the unruined eye and ran down the side of his face, a slow decline as it vanished in his salt and pepper hair. Keaton watched it and felt a pain like his insides were grinding together around his heart. His lips opened and closed as he crawled off the body awkwardly moving numbly away from it. He stumbled to the bathroom and ignored the dark brown drops of blood on the counter as he ran the faucet, hastily he cupped his hand beneath it and drank the water. Greedily he did this until his mouth no longer felt as dry as a desert.

Turning back to look at the hotel suite, he thought about his next move. He paced back and forth. His long feet scuffing moving as if on their own. He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes closing and opening in the hopes that when they opened again the scene would be different. He prayed to the Gods that this was not his reality, but it was. He let out a long breath and looked at the dead man in the bed. Running was out of the question, he knew this as he walked back to the piles of clothing. He ignored the body on the bed as he pulled on his green and red plaid boxers over his long thin hairy legs.Grabbing his black slacks they went on next, he dressed in silence.He buttoned the tailored for him crisp white shirt and felt fresh tears burn his eyes but he shook his head. The time for tears was over. There was only one course of action that he could do, one way to roll the dice of his life and see what fate would give him. He picked up his blood red iPhone and unlocked it with his face. He went to his phone contacts and dialed the name Agnes.

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The first chapter of the novel is here, please leave a vote or any feed back. This is my first novel and I want it to be the best it can be. This is a non profit work of fiction and I hope you like it.