claw my skin ./ python

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

MILLER

BYRNE

Musical beats echo through my body, shaking my bones and scratching at my eardrums. Lights flicker all around me, dazing my eyes into a sort of hypnotic ecstasy. I don't mind the alcohol that splashes from my cup, trickling down onto the floor where it will evaporate into nothing but a fragment of the never-ending sky. In this moment, I only long for the pain of bliss.

I sip up the liquid, smiling happily as it travels down my throat, leaving a faint burn in its wake. Bodies grind and flutter against me as  I walk,  whilst I know not of my destination. My feet feel much larger than their normal size, as if chains were shackled to my ankles, and I stumble around  like a lost soul. Laughter follows me on my path, and I pound my chest and holler like the fool that I am.

If I was back at the orphanage, wide-eyed and innocent, I'd be struck down for just the slightest peep. Still, I know that the pain we receive throughout our lives is nothing but a sign of love. Burn marks and scars line my body, and I view myself as nothing more than a canvas for the lovers that I participate with.

It is true, all of my nighttime-lovers leave me in the end. But, in the moment when their fingernails claw my skin and their teeth caress my neck, I am left with a remembrance of their love. Pain is a twisted sort of euphoria, and this I know. 

(Pain is love; pain is everything.)

I have no destination, I realize. In a District full of royalty and peasants, I stand in the center. I could be one of those fancy boys who rip apart dummies all day long, but where's the fun? No. I quite prefer dancing my life away, letting alcohol singe my throat and allowing lovers to ravage my entirety. 

Blinking as a messy grin splays out across my face, I notice a young man a short distance away. My brain is fucked, I realize, but I also notice that there are other parts of my being that have not obtained that particular pleasure.

"Well, hello," I call out, stumbling closer to the boy. His hair rises in a spiked tuft, and his face and body are chiseled. I hold out my free hand, poking at his sturdy chest. "I don't know 'bout you," I sputter, laughing slightly to myself. "But, just in case you're wonderin',  I want to have som' fun right now."

I don't know about you, stranger, but I want to feel your painful love.

 

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[Python]

A N D O U R L I P S C O L L I D E I N A B U R N I N G R I D E

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K A I S E R F R A Y
DISTRICT1 | SIXTEEN| MALE

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The thrum of exhilaration was potent in his vessels, pounding the walls of every channel and seeping through every pore of his being. He could feel the musical thumps vibrating inside of his chest, drawing every breath quicker even as he lingered casually in the corner with a drink in hand and eyes flickering from body to body. The crowd was alive with ecstasy and hormones, swaying unevenly to every song that played. Kaiser could see alcohol spilling and lust brewing. He knew he would participate all in good time, but he had only just arrived. Bringing the drink to his lips, he swallowed the liquid fire and licked his lips in anticipation for the buzz. He was far from drunk and planned to keep it that way. Alcohol always dulled the senses, and if this was going to be an evening of pleasure he would rather remember every moment of it.

Thankfully he knew his siblings (except Kellan) would never attend a party like this, so he could roam about without any worries. He planned to find a lady or lad to his liking tonight and take them to bed. That was the only reason for being here, honestly. Otherwise he would be prowling the night like a wolf on the hunt spilling fresh scarlet into his hands like a smiling savage. He would leave that for another night, when current cravings were satisfied first. Priorities.

Kaiser knew how approachable he was; he had the chiseled statuesque body crafted by years of careful training and vigorous workouts, eyes that invited lustful hearts and a face that was hardly a sight for sore eyes. Most often it was men who gathered the bravery to pursue him, while women felt the need to be sought out first save a few daring souls. He was okay with either. So when a staggering little twink approached him with alcohol staining his breath, he wasn’t at all surprised. He was rather pleased, actually.

The stranger’s grin was too large for his face at the moment and his slurs were laughable. He prodded Kaiser’s chest in a greeting and chuckled at himself, evidently not oblivious to his own intoxication. A boy who could laugh at himself – he liked that.

"But, just in case you’re wonderin’, I want to have som’ fun right now.”

A boy who didn’t beat around the bush. He liked that even more. ”Yeah?” he purred, quirking an eyebrow and spreading an eager smirk. He suddenly stepped closer to the boy, close enough to taste his breath if he wanted to. ”Then you came to the right person.”

Let the fun begin.

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template by chelsey

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

MILLER

BYRNE

"The right person, eh?" I slur, reckless fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, my conscious stepping upon the thought of being much too up close and personal. I laugh, arching my neck backwards in an attempt to inhale the remaining liquid inside my cup, thin lips stretching into a smile far too wide for my face to contain as I breathe in with a wistful sigh. "I guess it's my lucky day, hmm?"

The disorganized thud of electronic notes proceeds to slither into the chambers of my ears, but my reckless fingers continue to clutch onto the young man's formfitting shirt, perhaps in an attempt to keep my far more reckless soul from floating away and joining in an eternal dance made up of a cast of broken souls. "My name's Miller Byrne," I whisper as I lean in, the alcohol making every sensation that falls against my skin become magnified with sparks of ecstasy. I nudge my nose into his shoulder, my smile never faltering. "You smell pretty, ya pretty boy," I sputter, laughing at my idiocy.

If I had spoke such broken English back at the orphanage, where I learned what truly defined love as we know it, I'd be picking up my teeth out of a sea of blood right about now. And maybe that's why I do it; maybe I swim in burning liquids and drown in powdery jewels in an attempt to make everyone hate me, just so that I can feel their knuckles against my bones and their nails against my backside.

I wonder if this debonair young man likes to hit things?

My fingers refuse to let go of him, hips starting to sway to the beat. In the end, we're all artists and canvases. Some paint purple upon our skin and draw red from our psyches, and some of us lay down and conform to the art. I can't help my drunken body grinding against him, my entirety longing for him to paint every inch of my very being. I don't like to think that it's my fault for being so needy, helplessly begging for love in places that will only leave me more broken than when I started.  It's most likely because the pain that we feel inside is far more excruciating than that on the outside, even to me. I'm a disturbed magician, tricking the crowd with smiles so true and eyes so bright. I always test my limits, waiting until someone calls me out and breaks me far beyond repair.

And I'll be doing just that tonight.

My fingers release his shirt, trailing their way up the flesh of his neck. My body stops moving to the beat, thrusting pelvis coming to an abrupt halt. My lips linger inches away from his, my intoxicated breath intertwining with his own, dancing up to the ceiling in an array of forbidden euphoria. "What's your name, pretty boy?"

And what should I have the pleasure of calling you, o' artist of mine?

 

X