1Once upon a time
there was a boy(dragon)
Master – FISHEYES and
A M A N
The boy(dragon) loved and loved his Master dearly. But one day, the Master had to leave him. Leave him brokenhearted and abashed with FISHEYES. He coveted the boy(dragon) and
wanted
the
boy(dragon) all to himself-
FISHEYES pushed and pushed for his
L O V E.
Until one day the boy(dragon) became sore with his affection and
r
a
n
away. And into the arms of the M A N
Passion and fear and insatiable LUST melted(into)one
Until that time FISHEYES tore him away from the M A N and returned him to his Master
.
.
.
.
Don't go. He begged him. Don't go-
Wan hands clung desperately to his threads, his body. Oh God, don't go. I can't live without you, I won't. He had cried all night and all day and throughout all time it seemed. I have to, he growled.
"I won't be gone for too long." A smile went along with that. "You'll do well with my friend. You'll be okay. And in three moons time, I'll come back to gather you up, you poor broken thing." The hybrid collected himself as best he could after that; clinging desperately to the small, pitiful pieces that made him so. His Master would not lie to him, would not abandon him.
He loved him.
"Don't worry, you stupid thing, I'm not leaving tonight."
He held his dragon close after that and no complaint slipped past the boy's lips. He was happy, he was content; satisfied with the knowledge that his Master would return to him. The bed was cold as they lay together, stinging sensations against his pallid back. Arms held a tightly knit body over his butterfly one and he was worshiped – worshiped in such a way that made him tremble with longing, love
regret.
"I love you." A lie.
"I love you, pet." Another lie.
One after another, they built up upon each and together and all created a blissful, painful passion. It burned him in ways only his Master was allowed, searing flesh that pressed together in mindless throes. Time was endless as they lay together, stopping only for them as his Master lavished his spiteful love.
"You promise?"
Afterwards, tucked against those strong arms that oft brough (in such a brutal way), caressing the tainted flesh. He pressed his lips to the delicate shell.
"Always."
It was enough to calm his soul; settling the demons of his mind back into their resting places for another time. Black feathers covered silver as he rested against that broad, scarred chest, dreamlessly.
.
.
.
.
.
Tribuo mihi quispiam delecto quod EGO mos cultus is
"Are you going now?"
"I am."
He sat up, the silk wrapped around his insignificant form. His Master at the vanity, brushing those accursed blue locks back. The reflection locked his gaze. Another damned
E-
"Why? Why now, why ever?" The smile fell at that, drifting from his face just as a diseased elm loses its leaves. He hated that word- why. It was a horrible, disgusting, twisted word. No answer was given. You don't deserve your questions to be answered. Such stupid questions from such a stupid beast. He continued to stare at him; silver eyes haunted.
"I just have to. Business."
It was always
always business.
He
h
a
t
e
d
that word.
A sigh. The brush once more stroking azure hair as silence flooded his mind. The bed creaked.
The reflection found itself with a pair of ghost arms wrapping around its singularity. Pain seared across his back in butterfly kisses.
"I'll be good for him."
-I'll be good with him-
"I promise."
The dragon found himself pressing against his back; desperate to meld two separate entities to one. Failing. His Master said nothing, the brush working feverishly now. It rested in its attempts to free the strands. Get dressed. E. The turn was swift and the boy cried out with an unknown voice—surprise and passion and fear, all working together to create something so insignificant it was any wonder the noise reached any ears. They stared at one another, both fighting for a weak point to stab at until there was nothing left but an empty, beautiful shell. He gave first.
He always
Gave
F
I
R
S
T
Silver darkened and turned down, ashamed afraid. Uncaring glances passed his way though ice. You're starting to annoy me. I'm sorry. You're making me hate you.
"I'm sorry." Don't say anything else after this. It only hurts us. He broke free from that moment, cringing horribly as the claws left silk ribbons on his wrists his
shoulders
his self—
The brush once more moved, the bristles raining down in a horrendous attack on his very being. It drove him insane. It was monotony, it was something that just was and because of that it made him Insane. He was given a reprieve as the brush clattered noiselessly to the ivory dirty stand. He scrambled from the shadow as it turned.
Clean and white and red (no, red wood) surrounding him now. The diamonds carved into his feet for that brief juncture in time before they melted under him. He glimpsed his reflection and somebody else stared back, screaming wildly. Writhing against that thin sheet of glass, pounding desperate unheeding.
What
are
you
doing?
He turned and turned again. Blocked- that insatiable nightmare standing before him. What are you doing? What ARE you doing?
What?
"I told you that you need to get dressed. What are you doing?"
"I-I don' w." Liar. Figure it out.
Hurry and dress. He's waiting. I'm running late. He clung to HIM after those words, crying, begging. Don't go, don't go. But I have to. You're annoying me.
"Please…"
It was despair, it was agony – horrible and twisted and wonderful. Minute in the time of that long instance. Fear was met with a gentle passion, enveloping and forever. He breathed his Master's scent. It was blood it was lavender it was sweat it was hatred. I love i it. Oh God, don't leave me.
"Get dressed, he's waiting and I'm late." And just as quickly as he embraced, he was gone. Alone now, all alone. This is going to be how it feels until three times from now. The dragon wept.
And wept.
And wept.
.
.
.
.