NC17 for language

For trixie happy birthday!

Theres something about him. Something different.

Ill kill him. You understand that? But before I do

I watch.

He moves in a blur of grace and violence and the agony of others. His expression doesnt change. His arms extend like whipcord, fast and lean and strong. He turns on long, slim legs, his body twisting inside the robe, following a direction that comes straight from his gut, not his head.

He straightens again, barely panting. His skin is just slightly flushed, pale and smooth like a womans; like a boys. A deadly boy.

He breathes out, the sound lost in the hum of the air around him, the echo of dying screams. The relaxation of his blade glints in the glass of those goofy spectacles.

My cock stirs, surprising me. Or maybe not. It tells me Id do him, given the chance.

In an instant.

Am I really surprised at my desire? Men are as good as girls often better. But Im not aggressive in seeking sex because its not like I have to fight for it, cock or clit, theres always plenty of it out there.

I dont think there are many like him out there.

He stands like a monument in the midst of heat and dust and blood, the song of his blade still buzzing in two pairs of ears. A silken red river trickles from an open throat; the fingers on a half-fisted hand still jerk reflexively, denying their lifelessness.

Id take his body and wrestle it down amongst the filth and steaming murder and Id do him, here and now. Rip open the robe, bite the shoulder, wrench open the slender, muscled thighs.

In an instant.

The drape of the robe quivers, his chest heaving underneath. Theres a stray drop of sweat at his throat. His eyes are fierce and hard behind the spectacles, as if they seek to protect his thoughts from me.

Whatever they may be.

Theres a spatter of blood on them, those damned spectacles. He slides them off his nose, looks at them. Then he lifts them up to his mouth and his tongue flickers out to lap at the stain. He licks up the blood he suckles the blemish.

That tongue would be good, right? Good on my nipples; good on my cock; better around my ass.

He wipes the glass with his sleeve, slowly, thoughtfully, almost lovingly. A final cleansing touch. He puts them back with a single finger, sliding them up the bridge of his nose.

He looks straight at me. Theres never been any fear in his eyes. Hed kill me too, if I gave him the opportunity. If I let my guard down.

What kind of guy licks the spoils of his sin from his own spectacles?

A guy like him.

Fast as the downward swing of his blade; fierce as the buried fire in his eyes; suffused with cruel passion, evidenced by the corpses at his feet.

He keeps it all inside. I wonder how much is inside; what itd take to let it loose.

I can appreciate that kind of guy.

Ill kill him, thats the truth. Thats the pledge. But before I do

Id do him. Id be hard and greedy and Id bruise that pale skin. Thered still be no fear in his eyes, I know. Id not expect any cry of protest or pleasure, but Id be thrilled if I got it.

Maybe I would get it. Maybe he wants it as much as I do.

I step forward, my eyes holding his.

Id do him, you know?

In an instant.