Vintage Memories

Chapter Sixteen "My Sinful Delight"

Warning: Soft-core Sexual Content

The bruiting crackle of the flames trapped within the confines of the fireplace filled the dark bedroom, easing the atmosphere of the night-shaded boudoir with its comforting, sizzling din. The dancing fire illuminated the darkened room ever-so-slightly with subtle incandescence, pushing and pulling its radiant reach across the floorboards; as if ocean waves on a sandy shore. Allen gaped at the flickering fire, dazed and quiet. Dark, bronzed bangs laid scattered across his auburn forehead, wet from his recent shower.

The distant sound of the running water still sounded off down the hall as his partner in crime took his turn to clean himself. Observant of his lover's time in the shower, he promptly made his way over to the pile of bloodied clothing, set to be burned in the very fire lit. The brunette rustled through the heap of tarnished fabrics with heedful movements, careful not to splatter blood on his hands again. Locating his vest, he slipped his discerning fingers into the breast pocket, removing the hair he had cut from the woman's head in haste.

Turning to the portentous book balanced precariously atop the mantle, he snatched it, riffling through the pages for the instructions that were left to him. Excitement hastened the blood that riveted through his veins about what was to commence. Murder was, but only, a sizable piece of what was expected of him, the next to be performed before the flames of a roaring fire to seal his allegiance to his deal-maker. He began to recite the incantations quietly, careful in his pronunciation, making well sure that, albeit quiet, that each word was crystal clear.

The fire spat and thrashed at his conjuration, tincture shifting from its usual yellows and whites, to a sickly sea-green hue. Allen's eyes lit up at the bewitching spectacle before him, truly aflutter at the awe inspiring magic he was witnessing. Acting on pure impulse, he tossed the bloodied hair into the hungry flames, watching the fire consume the offering.

Lucifer certainly did well in leaving him with clear cut instructions, making it easy to follow. Subsequent to the sacrifice of a human life, he was required to offer a remnant of his crime. The action, he learned thereafter reading the details of Lucifer's disposition, would cement the slain soul's fate in the hands of his deal-maker; essentially leaving them forcefully hell-bound, whether they were meant for heaven or not. The more souls he could plunder as collateral on behalf of his satanic majesty, the better his transcending rewards would be upon his own death. A small price to pay indeed, at least in his eyes.

After a short while, the flames did die back to their usual, neutral state, as if nothing of devilish nature even occurred at all. Impeccable timing as it may have it, hearing the shower shut off just as things returned to normal. Allen quickly closed the scripture and placed it back on the mantle, hidden amongst his many other books.

Anthony entered—in his typical fashion and preference—in a towel wrapped around his chest, cascading down to his lower thighs. He tousled his dripping hair in another towel provided to him as he peered around the room, a space he had never been in before.

"Fancy digs ya' got here, rich boy." The artificial blonde's tenor teasingly playful, approaching his host. His pale, water glossed skin shone in the reflection of the fire's warmth, constellations of freckles dotting across his shoulders.

"I'm pleased you're comfortable, my dear." Allen looked down to his lover's injury and examined the bullet hole that shot straight through his upper arm, no longer flooding blood. Anthony was certainly lucky that the shrapnel discharged clean through his skin, not seeming to have hit anything important. All that was needed was a little care and disinfectant. He gently took the blonde's hand—the one not holding the cloth towel to his chest—kissing it softly.