Mirror, Mirror

A pale man is sprawled out amongst black pillows and blankets. Feathery, black hair is fanned out around his perfect face, with its lidded eyes and upturned nose. The bed he lies on is huge, and would have dominated any room, save the one it rests in now, leaving plenty of room for the actual focus point. A huge, full-length mirror sits in the far left corner, kept upright by the stand situated behind it. Its frame was of a peculiar sort. Comprised of tangled, twisted metal vines, it weaves its way around the mirror’s edge, constructing an intricate yet unyielding web around the glass.

All is silent. Nothing moves, save the dust motes dancing in the crack of light that leaks between the double doors which so expertly isolate the frozen room. No thump of footsteps, clink of cutlery on plates. No growling dogs, hissing cats, or, heaven forbid, roaring automobiles. No. Just the quiet that is the result of absolute stillness. As it should be.

A clock chimes from somewhere down the hall. A solid knock sounds against carved, wooden double doors. The figure, mostly obscured by the dark black bedclothes it rests in, stirs slightly against the sheets. His pale, ghostly chest rises ever so slightly, the tiniest hint of a breath is drawn in through moist, pink lips.

A light sigh sounds from behind the wooden barricade. A soft jangling noise can be heard, like a wind chime, or a tiny bell; after that comes the rough, chaffing sound of old metal rubbing against itself. A series of alternately high and lower-pitched clicking noises are emitted before, again, the metal slides. Then, finally, the wrought-iron doorknobs slowly twist. The doors fall open soundlessly.

The newcomer [practically glides] into the room, shoe-clad feet somehow silent on the polished hardwood floor despite their heavy, expensive heels.

As the intruder comes closer, the figure on the bed moves again, taking another soft, shallow breath, only a little quicker than the one before it.

The intruder finally reaches the foot of the bed. Without even the slightest bit of hesitance, it stops, removing its shoes, and climbs up onto the bed, through the mounds of pillows and blankets, careful not to disturb the man resting amongst them.

Finally having reached the figure’s head, the climber stops, carefully lowering itself down beside its unmoving companion. The newcomer is lying on his side, facing the man opposite him.

He leans in towards his partner’s ear, and the name leaves his lips like a bird taking flight. “Gee.”

The change is immediate: stark, white eyelids fly open, and finally the man’s eyes are exposed, their blood red irises seeming to give off their own crimson glow as they dart about the room.

Simultaneously, lush, pink lips part, gasping for air as though it could disappear at any second. The sound of the man’s soft, panting breaths fills the room.

The newly-awoken man begins to sit up, but is quickly interrupted by his experienced visitor, who places a hand on his bare chest, gently pushing him back down onto the mattress. “Shh, Gee, it’s okay, it’s me, Frank, see? It’s just me,” the second man assures the first, and his tone is so gentle, so earnest and caring.

“Oh. . . Frankie. . .” the second pants, eyes drifting shut with the effort it takes.

“Come on, Gee, here, you haven’t done it here in awhile, okay?” Frank tries to direct his companion.

“Ugh, ‘m s—so thirst-ty, Frankie. . . D-dunno what t’ d-do. . .” he gasps out.

“Here, it’s okay, you can drink from here, okay, Gee? Here you go,” Frank reassures him, gently pressing the pale skin of the inside of his wrist to ‘Gee’s’ parted lips. “There, go ahead Gerard, it’s fine, just take what you need to.” He tries to meet his friend’s—Gerard’s—eyes, and he finally succeeds, his own rich hazel locked onto luscious ruby.

Gerard manages a choked-sounding “No, no, don’t want to. . .” but eventually gives in, the presence of that sweet, sweet nectar far too tempting to resist for any longer.

He lets out a pained moan which could have been “’m sorry,” before drawing back his rose petal lips, revealing tiny, pointed canines, that manage to glisten even in the subdued light that creeps in from under the closed doors. He pauses, seeming to nuzzle the flesh before him, rubbing his nose and face against it, almost like an apology of sorts, and licks a thin stripe down the limb with an impossible dark pink tongue. All before he parts his jaws, letting a soft whimper out, and biting down into the vulnerable wrist below him.

The small teeth sink into the lush skin offered up to them, piercing through layers of skin and flesh, searching for—and flawlessly locating—the rivers of rubies that lay beneath them.

And the blood starts to flow.

It never feels exactly the same twice. That’s one of the things they both love about the experience.

The atmosphere is always unique, the rush of feelings never the same, the combinations of endorphins always new and exhilarating. This means that every time they’re intimate like this, Frank and Gerard are sharing something new and precious together.

This time, Frank initiated things. He feels needed, nurturing, as his lover laps frantically at the little puncture wounds, moving slightly to rest in his arms, leaning against Frank’s muscled chest. Gerard’s long, delicate fingers cling to the arm as he worries and sucks on the two little puncture wounds, trying to get every last drop of sustenance from them, while his willing donor looks on, gently pressing his head closer to the wound and stroking his jet black hair.

Gerard is desperate. Somewhere deep down inside him, he knows that it’s completely ridiculous and unfounded, but his instincts are adamant, and they’re telling him that Frankie is his, that he needs Frankie to survive, and that under no circumstances was he to allow him to escape.

He needs him—and whether he knows it or not, body and mind—far too much for that.

So he scrabbles at Frank, burrowing deeper into his friend’s arms as he gradually, unwillingly, lifts his head from Franks arm, leaning it back against the man’s chest in exhaustion.

A heavy sigh escapes Gerard’s lips as he tries to regain his breath, panting slightly, while Frank shushes him, stroking his head and whispering calming sweet nothings into his ear.

When the black-haired man is finally able to talk again, he does so quietly, the words drifting to his comrade’s ears on the wings of a sigh. “Frankie,” he gets out in between breaths. A dark pink tongue darts between his paler lips before his speaks again.

“Frank. . . Th-thanks, Frankie. . . God, so. . .” Gerard pants. “So fuckin’ good, just. . . Ugh, God. . .” his eyelids flutter shut as he groans, his body recalling the rush of sensations it just experienced.

Frank chuckles in a surprisingly rough voice, as he leans down, his unmarked hand moving from Gerard’s hair to make room for his lips, which brush lightly over the soft, matte locks there.

“No, Gee, th. . . Thank you,” he insists, smiling as his eyes drift shut against his lover’s hair.