Caustic Touch Burning

oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Dedicated To: My sister cause you PESTERED me for it

oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Warning: OO!

oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Quietly he laughs and shaking his headcreeps closer now, closer to the foot of the bedand softer than shadow and quicker than flieshis arms around me and his tongue in my eyes'Be still, be calm, be quiet now, my precious boy, don't struggle like that or I will only want you more'And it's much too late to get away or turn on the lightthe spiderman is having me for dinner tonight

Lullaby- The Cure

Talk to your daddy in that tone of voiceThere's a belt hanging over the door

Blue Flashing Light- Travis

I feel like this won't go awayNo matter how hard I try toSqueeze my eyes shut so I can't see

Take It- Staind

I can't control my anger, it burns me up inside

Amplifier- The Deadlights

Do you ever get the feeling that you're sinking? I do.

Celestial (The Tower) - Isis

Some like it tightsome like it loosesome need a reasonsome need no excusesome like it dirtysome like it cleansome like it tendersome like it mean

Some- Michael Sheehy and Brian Molko

Slackerbitch, fag hag, whoreLooks real cute her lips are soreSlackerbitch, fag hag, whoredripping sex from every pore.

Slackerbitch- Placebo

Anytime your desperate baby, so am ISituations desperate baby, so am II'm cheating and hustling and I'm telling liesI'd like to stop but I'm too gone to try

Situation Desperate- Dream City Film Club

Find all the love they took awayCause your head is a brick walland your heart is a footballand your eyes broken windows when you cry

Good Day To Die- Travis

Take me around againJust don't pull overthis time would you please drive faster... roll these misty windows down to catch my breath againand then go and go and go just drive me home and back againhere I lay, just like alwaysdon't let mego take me to the edge

Passenger- Deftones

oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Chapter Fourteen

For a brief moment, Illkitt had thought that this was life after death, and the fear that he felt was unparalleled, even to the fear that tore through him like streak lightning whenever anyone had touched him, even accidentally after the rape.

That fear had been a fear of the body, but this fear, deeper than bone deep, had been a fear of the soul. Up until then, Illkitt hadn't thought that he'd had one, but that sensation of suddenly slipping and falling downstairs, only of being pulled up at the same time had terrified him into believing this was it. He had died and this was the final judgement.

His lungs burned fiercely and he feared the caustic poison of sulphur (something had sunk in through science class) and he felt a mouth on his and he dreaded the icy death kiss of Satan, like Judas when he'd singled out Jesus for those Roman soldiers. And there was pain. Everywhere was pain, except for his stomach which was filled with the writhing of maggots… the awful churning deep within him that he couldn't stand any longer… he was going to-

They turned the cold coloured body of Illkitt over onto his side as he vomited. This was just an after-effect of the naloxone hydrochloride, the quick and intravenous administration of which had saved his life, effectively shouldering the opioid out of the way in competition for the same receptor sites.

In layman's terms, the naloxone injection had induced a kind of instant heroin withdrawal in Illkitt, meaning that the heroin was no longer able to depress his system, as it did.

Illkitt's overdose was speedily reversed (his dealer had acquired both the Dosette vials and a nitrogen sealed container in which to store them from a janitor at the local clinic who owed him a massive favour) with the dual consequences of life and withdrawal symptoms.

After one of the not-so-stoned junkies had seen Illkitt collapse on the floor, he'd sent a 'friend' (none of them could use that word without the containers of quotation marks) to get help while immediately checking for a pulse and heartbeat before having to laboriously, and with much swearing, perform CPR. Of course, Keith gave Illkitt's initial 'rescuer' a reward of a few free hits, as he usually did if someone rescued someone else from an overdose.

His logic was, that he knew he'd not only make his money back and then some by charging the overdose victim to work off the naloxone, the junk he'd give in reward AND the bother of having to walk up those stairs and slide the needle with the narcotic antagonist cradled carefully inside into one of the addict's non-collapsed veins, finding one being a task in itself, but, he'd also maintain the number of whores he had working for him.

They were revived (okay, into a life of debt, but no one's life was perfect, was it), their rescuer got a free hit or two and the dealer made some cash out of it. Everyone won!

Luckily for Illkitt, or unluckily for Illkitt, Keith was the kind of selfish dealer who cared that much about his money to be loathe to lose any of his whores, even to opioid poisoning. The boy himself wished that he'd remained in that soft dark surcease of unconsciousness that he'd slept in peacefully until he'd been forcibly dragged out of it.

He'd done it a few times over the years, when he hadn't been able to make up the cash to get a hit; involuntary heroin withdrawal. At the time he'd thought that that was hell, the worst physical pain he'd ever experienced, which was saying a lot. However, something was different this time though.

As he vomited and shook and sweated and convulsed, the thought in the back of his mind was that this was painful, but not terrifying. Not as terrifying as the death he knew was waiting for him.

He'd died and found religion and it scared him so bad that he never wanted to die and face the aftermath. The cold burn of the Judas kiss was still on his mouth like the red light lipstick that soaked into his mouth when he was playing the slash-mouthed kinder whore.

Keith wasn't pleased when he offered Illkitt a hit after a day without the heroin (just to make sure, the kid had nearly died after all) and the masochist refused. His eyes went hard but he put it down to prudence on Illkitt's part- maybe he thought it was too early to take a hit so soon after a fatal overdose.

He tried a second time the day after, and again Illkitt refused, although he looked like his arms were going to snap themselves off with the tension in them as they leant to the drug like a sunflower to the sun.

Now Keith was beginning to worry. Illkitt was obviously suffering, in the kind of way that not even a masochist would enjoy, his whole body cramped up like a crushed tin can, his head must have felt like a demolished house. But he still refused.

Keith didn't save Illkitt just so he could kick the habit and leave scott free. He owed him for the naloxone anyway. There was still whoring to be done, leg to be flashed, a mouth to be burnt and thighs to be spread out, indecent as a public whorehouse, in order for Keith to get his money back.

Illkitt knew this. But he wasn't going to get back on the junk. The habit was being kicked, and in the weeks that it took Illkitt to get through the worst of it, his resolve grew stronger.

Keith cajoled, threatened and tempted, but Illkitt summoned the pretence of arrogance that he'd used against bullies all those centuries ago back in school and shot Keith down every time. He'd pay Keith back for the drug that saved his life, but that was it.

He was on his way to what he calculated would be the last gangbang he'd ever have to do. With the money he'd make from this party he'd be ale to pay Keith back and keep some money for himself.

He might travel. He might invest. He might even put a payment down on a house, find a normal job that didn't require too many qualifications but had the opportunity to learn and settle down.

He might even be able to find someone he could bear to touch.

Because that boy was gone. The boy who'd been raped by his uncle before he'd even known what sex was, the boy who'd used his body like hard currency, and broke hearts, and was broken, and was so far off the tracks he was back before railways even existed- that boy had died of a heroin overdose.

And what was left now was just him.

He leant his head out of the car window a little way, just to feel the cold dark knives of air shove and tug at his hair, smacking at his face, to smell the dark space beyond the road and felt that he was born again.

It was the beginning and the end of Illkitt. For a few more average and invaluable seconds he felt that this was it, and he was real. For those few mediocre and infinite seconds, he experienced something completely otherworldly, almost a kind of transcendence before the truck he never saw coming hit the car and killed him as soon as it impacted on his side of the door.

He was immortalised in that one moment of perfect simplicity, the pure feeling of life and the air filling his ears, taking him home.

The only person who cared about Illkitt's death in the end was Keith.

Illkitt still owed him money.

oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Yes, this is the end of Caustic Touch Burning. If you think I'm being too melodramatic, fuck off. I planned this from the beginning, why else do you think I used 'Passenger' lyrics?!

Apologies for not getting this out sooner, but I have a job now and it eats my life… does pay well though.

Look out for part five of this STILL UNNAMED series.

THANK YOU TO:

Drizzle, SunMoonAndSpoon, WunderWulfe, Chesh, kenny, Koril Dragonic, Kittiminx, KaiJessamyne, redredredred, rachel, EssentialOne, faking effing artsy, NightmareWolf00, sulleby, insane-hunter, Lexx, Maray, Cyn, IdiotMaru!, Yole, Basha, Rouge, Paints-The-Sky, Jay De Torcawits, strawbpig, Cookie Gestapo, Slim, Talentless Moo, Meep

And of course… my wife