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tampered2006-11-07 01:42 am
revelations9x6.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-11-07 01:42 am
Log: Complete
When; Nov. 4th ( night)
Rating; NC-17 ( sex & violence, yum! )
Characters; Xulchilbara![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
revelations9x6, Vincent snarky_padre_v
Summary; Bound in flesh and fire.
Log;
There is a muffling quality to the air in placed such as these. Corridors that have not seen living inhabitants for some time whisper to one another after the disturbance has passed them by.
The way is marked easily for those with the eyes to see it; the very occasional candleflame...though the light is wane at best, and the further whispered footsteps descend the more prevelent those occasional dances in the dark alight on something wet, yet could not truly be called 'alive'.
The servants gather and whisper to each other with tongueless mouths of the disturbance in the house.
" Who is it?"
"It disturbs."
" Not mother.."
"Not master?"
"Who, who?"
They whisper and writhe, and follow...always out of the reach of the lights, but never far behind.
Deeper into the rabbit hole, did alice fall...until she encountered a door.
Or rather, the path ended with no more turns, and no more corridor.
Simply a door of unremarkable make; aged wood in an aged stone frame.
Perhaps there is intent to knock, and that intent is known before the sound can break the hushed chittering.
Beyond is vaulted space, a room of indeterminate size for light is a rare occurence, and the simple glow of an older modelled hurricane lamp casts more shadow than it illuminates.
At odds with the surroundings is a simple, but elegantly comfortable pair of red-leathered wooden chairs set at angles about a small circular table. The table holds the lamp, but also a small eclectic array of objects.
A stack of weathered photographs, three impecably cleaned flechettes that shone with a silvery razor's edge and contained the cold promises of delicate pain in thier slim shafts and curving blades.
These sit on a cleaning cloth, and beyond them a simple wooden bowl covered, seemingly at random, with inlaid symbols that have a tendency to shift and change if the viewer removes thier attentions from it.
Just at the edge of the lamp's light a cloth of the same indeterminate dark color as much of the occupent's favored attire, covers a roughly rectangular shape that lays directly on the weathered carpets that make an island in the middle of the room's flagstones.
In truth the room now has three occupents; The dark man who's dress and demeanor was as close to casual as he ever came.
A dark red ( or perhaps not?) dressing gown wraps shoulders and arms, then drops to brush his ankles, leaving a strip of white, smooth skin visible from shoulder to hip, and then a single bared leg crossed at the ankle over the opposing knee.
He sits in silence and seems to be listening intently to the opposing silence of...well...what could only be described as a humanoid figure wrapped in bindings of flesh, and something possibly darker; more visceral.
The door opening interrupts the choking, gurgles of what passes for communication from this 'servent', and both the dark angel, and grotesquerie pause and look over.
" You are late.", the soft cadence of the dark man's speech is the first disturbance of intelligible sound in these whispering shadows.
-
"Am I?" Vincent blinked, surprised by the light at the end of the tunnel, as it were, "Well. it was hard to find my way around. and then, of course, Keico took her time bringing me my new vestments..." he had not entirely heeded the girl's message, and was wearing his glasses. this was probably just as well, or it would have taken him a lot longer to get here, being woefully near sighted without them... he narrowed his eyes as he took in the ritual implements. Something was afoot, but...was he not the only one expected?
--
A single gesture of dismissal is given; an elegant motion without concern from one comfortable with command, and the horror abases itself....then skitters away into the impenetrable darkness beyond.
"She is no longer your concern, my dear." he replies, this excuse is irrelevant, for those odd eyes make twin lights that supercede the wane lamplight, and pin the supplicant in place.
" I believe I made it clear that you were to leave all other personal effects behind?" he says simply, though there is something very wrong with the undertone. Something not yet frightening, but has the potential to be.
Thoughtfully the dark man rests his chin in one hand and studies the puzzled human at his door.
Quick as a flash, and as silent as a shadow, an unseen appendage that may have been meant to pass for an arm snatches out and removes the offending glasses from the supplicants face, then disappears back into the shadows above the door.
At some point during those seconds of distraction, the dark man had risen from the chair and crossed a space that would have been impossible to do in so short a time, even at a dead run.
...But trivialities aside, he was now in close proximity to the supplicant, divided now by only by bare inches...and yet...the presence that ever-cloaked him was...less.
As though the muffling quality of the air had also dampened the chaotic discord that those eyes still radiated.
Odd? perhaps.....or perhaps explained if the supplicant were to look down and note that between the doorway, and the dark man there was a smearing splash of crimson, with equally alien marks to those of the bowl wiped into the thick fluid.
To look beyond, this circle curved off into the shadows the lamp could not touch, but came around again to be easily infferred to be completly connected.
"Do you know why I summoned you? Why I have allowed you to see this far into my private rooms?"
The sibilant tone seemed to reach for the priest, to want desperately to draw him in, but until the human understood, and thus decided to cross this last threshold, it would now....and forever more be an echo, a memory of one night, and one kiss.
-
"Hey!" Vincent panicked as his glasses were snatched away from him; there was nothing so vulnerable as being unable to see properly.
he could sense Xuchilbara nearby tho, and tried to calm himself. "Because of the one arguing with you?" Vincent ventured a guess.
-
More allowances for the supplicant, now that his vision was impaired.
" Yes....and I believe you stated that you wished to find the 'strength' to withstand a more...prolonged intensity, he replied.
A calculating light flared in the spiralling depths of the dark man's eyes; a creature at intimate study.
"You now have another choice to make, Vincent." He continued, his voice purring, wrapping itself around the supplicant's name and pressing against it's syllables.
" There are two ways for you to achieve your...'tolerance'...One:- " He held out a hand as though weighing one choice with the other for the prophet's sake. "- I come to you when I can find the moments to spare, and we speak....and only speak." A pouting edge to the tone now, a feigned dislike for this option. " We do not touch in any way, we do not become in closer proximity than thus." the hand indicates the divide absently.
" You will return to your quarters, and you will become my prophet, and nothing more."Those burning eyes looked away, as though the idea might pain the dark man....and it would have been a believable display had he not ever been betrayed by the mocking cruelty in those eyes.
"Or..." A flare of brightness, of predatory interest, and the opposing hand rose to weigh the second choice. " You can choose, of your own free will, to come with me, now..."
A smile that was no smile at all....but rather a cruel smirk " Choose me thrice over....and bind yourself to me in fire.." a brighter flare of dark light behind those eyes...a hungry look. "...and flesh."
Arms both now out, the dressing gown left little a larger expanse of white skin that with a deep breath could leave nothing to the imagination at all.
Here, posed as still as a marble carved statue in an open and ready embrace...
You may step into my parlor....said the spider to the fly...
-
A choice...that was really no choice at all. The god already knew how madly infatuated Vincent was, and if fire was all he need brave, he was eager to burn.
The preacher had, since his arrival, become more than a little mad in his devotion and, as a creature already addicted to pain, the god would have to marvel if somehow he built up the willpower to suddenly refuse what he was being offered.
Vincent was power-hungry, greedy, lustful...and near-sighted in more than just the physical.
When he set his heart upon a goal, no one and nothing stood in the way of him trying to attain it. "I will come with you." he said, simply.
-
Those hands outstretched, just a gesture away..." You must cross on your own, Vincent. I can not force you."
Cross the circle...and commit to becoming that much less human...
-
He had to look down to do it. Mindfully aware of the pace of his feet lest he stumble and, in so doing, seem all the more awkward to his lord... he already was aware his human condition, as it were, was part of what Xuchilbara found lacking in him and, to be sure, he was aware that what power would be offered him was something he wanted as much as the god's approval and touch...
... he stepped into the circle.
-
As though the circle itself were an invisible curtain, the presense that was The Red God's nature washed over Vincent like a thick liquid.
....And then receeded.
Not gone, simply further away...as a wave withdrawls from shore only to be pushed forth again by it's relentless mistress, the moon.
So too, between one heartbeat and the next did the sense, that oddly visceral, yet undefinable sense of heat, of chaotic sensations move off.
In, and out...in and out.
Like breathing, only complex in it's simplicity.
Somewhere between one wave and the next the dark man grasped Vincent's hands, but this only heightened the pull and release so that when the wave came it was intense, but then receeded more completly and stayed gone for a minute, possibly two.
"Disrobe." It was not a request.
-
He did as he was asked, clearly eager to be rid of the stiff collar of his shirt, as he tossed that aside first.
he unbuttoned the shirt and slid it off his thin shoulders, letting the material fall to the floor behind him. he fumbled with the top button of his pants and then undid the zipper with shaking hands, letting the pants pool around his ankles.
A little self consciously he cupped his hands over his genitals, standing otherwise more or less at ease.
-
Eyes that left trails of burning ice watched impassively.
Once finished, the wave responded in accordance and swallowed the supplicant in the pleasure-pain of it embrace.
Helf-lidded human eyes glazed for a moment, and when the wave receeded the dark man was close...so close that where Vincent to take a deep breath he would be pressed against his lord.
Those awful eyes flared with a possessive light, and almost without perceptible movement the dark man's loosely fitting dressing gown descended to join the other soft piles of cloth.
Gazes locked...locked, and held.. The priest watched, half-frightened, half-awed, as the God came closer, and closer...until there was nothing seperating the heated silk of his lord's white skin from the fine shivering flesh of the priest's abdomnen.
A briefest touch of lips, and Vincent was being pushed backwards a slow step at a time. Pushed not with hands, but with flesh, with eyes...with the simple will of the God, until he came into contact with the cloth-covered shape ( which proved to be a bed whose strewn pillows matched, and thus blended with the dark fabric covering it.)
A sharp, imperceptible movement of a hand; a single flick of a white wrist had Vincent sprawled on his back across a texture that was reminiscent of silk...or perhaps velvet? It was difficult to tell.
No time was allotted for more trivialities as suddenly as the hand had pushed him away, the God was stradling his prophet; a hysterical greed lighting his flame-colored eyes.
"Tied ver van banya" he growled with a grin from above the priest, raw aching want flowed out from this proximity to wrap itself like a living thing around the human.....but while the priest rode that wave, the God was leaning down, taking hold of his prophet's throat....Then bringing as much of that pale, burning flesh to contact....Yes, burning, no chill in evidence now as a heat hotter than meer fire scorched it's way through the prophet's mind.
Searing and carving a symbol.
A name.
Simultaneously the God pressed one razored nail into the flesh of Vincent's forehead and cut a perfect line.
Blood sprang forth immeadiately, but the blade-edge pressed again to cross the line with another.
It flowed easily, joyfully down away from the human's eyes...leaving crimson trails at it's passage.
Beneath the blood, and the cuts, a symbol glowed to life.
It throbbed at the nearness of it's master, and only added to the fires within.
-
Vincent didn't know the words...he could read the runes a bit, but most of the Order's books were translations. and then of course it didn't matter, because his attention was fully on Xulchibara...and the pain and pleasure that was being visited upon him.
the only thing he direly wished was that he could see more clearly the things being done.
It maddened him for this all to be such a blur...
-
That mad, knowing, smile stayed in place as the God regarded the bleeding priest.
It seemed a terrible shame that so much was dependent on a single sense...
Seeking to rectify this, the red god leaned down again...but this time to press a surprisingly tender kiss against his prophet's mouth.
One mark had flared to life under the master's touch, and now with the press of flesh to flesh, the second over Vincent's heart glowed as well.
A purring sort of pleased sound elicited from the God at the second reaction......and without warning that gentled kiss became fierce as a the prophet's toungue was bitten.
Bitten hard enough that both could taste the copper tang of blood here as well.
The Red God made a noise very like a groan at the taste...the wonderful taste...and a more prolonged spike of ecstatic pain melted through his own form...but whether, with two marks active and responding, Vincent was as ....overcome...as in previous encounters was up for debate.
-
Vincent could of course feel all of these things as they occured; the marks, in particular were of interest to him.
He had, without realizing it, responded to Henry's the other day- a momentary twinge of jealousy clouded his mind as he wondered how many 'chosen ones' the god had anyway.
Although he was neither invited or, for all he knew, permitted, he put his arms out, hoping to draw the god closer. What was supposed to burn and chill the soul with fear did the opposite to him; Vincent found himself aroused by the contact, in ways he had never felt with any of the women he had bought with the church's money... but...this was a ceremony and he was not about to ruin it with his own needs. he waited to see what would happen next..
-
Allowed, permitted, and even encouraged.
Yes, this was ritual, but it is made much less powerful, much less binding when one or the other party does not feel the strength of it.
Resuming a higher position, the god laced one hand's fingers through the prophet's own and grinned a sharpened, malicious smile.
His own mouth was blooded, indeed it was painted in blood as though the red god had been standing beneath an open vein.
This is the nature of blood, however. The human body only contains twelve pints in total...but once that quantity was released from it's fleshy confines it inevitably appeared as though a mad artist had been painting with decidedly more on hand.
His infernal dancing eyes made his expression shift from near-doting, to predatory, then back again.
One set of fingers laced with the prophet's, the God used his free hand to trace the line of Vincent's bloodied lips, then barely touching all the while, drew it down until it hovered over the darkly lit sigil on Vincent's chest.
" ConCeNtrate,....... kamlo..." He said, his voice slipping between the human affectation, and the closer approximation of his true voice as he spoke.
"You do not need glass to see me" True enough, for this ritual was meant as a binding, yes, but as with any constructed circuit; that which passes into, may also be drawn upon. Well, within certain limits...and yes, while those limits were very new, and fragile, but being able to see clearly within a raised circle, during the drawing of yet more of the chaotic, primal power that made up the very nature of The Red God should not be difficult.
Another beatific smile, again betrayed by blood on his lips, the fire within his eyes, and the God pushed another cut into the flesh over Vincent's heart.
Not deeply, mind....but enough to open the gate...to make the blood flow.
-
Vincent winced, twitched, hissed...but in the end no manner of bodily reactions would stave off the feel of pain which, due to the way he had been wired sometime back, surpassed all pleasures in its sublime expression...his nerves tingled, echoing the pain back and forth across the pathways of neurons.
Vincent was told to see but to see would be too much for him now...he just wanted to feel. He closed his eyes.
The god would just have to forgive him for this...
-
Forgiveness was not a part of The Red God's nature, but in knowing that the intent behind the actions; the words, the blood, the pain made the prophet's inclination to lose himself in that ecstatic sensation understandable, and possibly even beneficial.
The purring resumed, and increased in cadence as the God moved to first slide his knee between Vincent's thighs, then settle there while letting his spattered hands glide in one prolonged touch from the human's shoulders, across his chest, then to pause in what could be called a favored position considering the marks that already curved angrily across the skin, at the man's hips.
Three gates opened, and the pull and release of raw power was becoming more noticeable.
This had far surpassed the God's own indefinably chaotic presense and crossed into something far less recognizable, yet wholly dangerous.
Darkly lit eyes flicked once to the prophet's face, enjoying the look they found there....then almost as an afterthought, the bladed thumbnail flicked across skin just below the navel.
Another key locked into place, and this time, the incoming tide caused the Red God himself to shiver very lightly.
Oh yes, he was perfectly capable of feeling the pleasure-pain mix his touch exuded, but the rawer elemental majicks were beggining to supercede the constant discord that surrounded him.
The flaring brightness lingered when he opened his eyes again, but they also shone with a feral gleam...a wanting that could be interpreted as either lust, or ( and possibly more acurately) bloodlust.
The purring vibration that had kept and undertone throughout this exchange rose fractionally, but likewise lingered in it's subtle bass.
The God's horrific eyes watched the blood beading from the most recent cut...and almost as though he seemed unaware of it, he leaned down and ran an unsettlingly elongated toungue across Vincent's bloodied skin.
-
Vincent's eyes were just as clouded with excitement, and he was attentive not just to the ministrations to his body, but to the ritual itself.
This wasn't something he had been taught in seminary. He wondered if it predated the Order's rituals.
He wanted to speak, but wasn't sure if that would be appropriate.
Instead, he laid back, aware of his heartbeat as his wounds throbbed in time with it.
-
The time for questions and talk would be quite soon....as the God did not linger over the fourth gate and it's crimson tears.
Very precisely the god aligned one hand in the central miridian of the prophet's body, index finger touching the first gate on Vincent's brow.
Slowly, and almost gently, he drew a line from the first blood welling from the cut on Vincent's forehead, to skim the human's mouth, then curve under his chin, and follow the path from throat to sternum, to belly leaving an unbroken crimson mark where it passed.
Down and down, until the line ended at the very base of the prophets's cock.
Another quick flick of brightly lit eyes that sought Vincent's own to hold captive.It did not matter if the human could see detail, the red God was more interested in watching the expressions chase across his prophet's face as starting from where the crimson line ended, that searing heat joined a fluidic sesnation; The Red God licking from base to tip of the fifth gate.
With only a breath of pause, and that ever-subtle vibration, the God retraced his path....only instead of simply licking his way along; blood-painted lips parted and surrounded the human to descend oh so slowly.
Once comfortably situated, the God withdrew just as carefully, mindful of sharpened teeth, then with eyes that would only slide closed from one wave's return tot he next, descend in a rhythm that was intended to be torturous in it's tenderness.
-
".....!" if Vincent was trying to follow what was happening with simple reverence and pomp to the idea of ritual significance, that was certainly going to change the way of his thinking. As he had been lying as still as he could, hoping not to accidentally put out any of the candles or seem irreverent in his attitude, obviously this was simply going to make him respond as any human would; he groaned, desperately wanting more of that to happen.
-
The common misconception that the oldest majicks are mysterious and awe inspiring is a prevelant one.
The oldest and most powerful of energies stem directly from the three stages of life: To be born, to breed and to die. Death, and it's cousin energies were as much a part of the God's nature as sex and it's significance.
This was a binding, "Maithuna", or union. In what had become a lewd or dirty act amongst many western religions lay the keys to giving over oneself to powers far older than a man on a cross.
That groan sounded sweeter in it's simple desperation than any music to the god...and on the final withdrawl he was less mindful of sharpened teeth, thus allowing the smallest of nips to end that particular pull of lips and tongue.
A bead of blood swelled and tasted exquisite on his tongue, but the enjoyment was short lived as with the release of the fifth and final gate, an in-rushing elemental fire broke like a burning wave over the god.
He drew away and hissed with a wracking shudder....yes it was painful simply because there was nowhere for the energy to go. Much like electrical current, this tide of majick needed a closed circuit to run it's course; it needed a master to match the servent.
Through sheer force of will Xulchilbara forced the rampant burning down, and held it locked within himself...but it did require a solid minute before he was able to draw breath to fuel the human body he inhabited.
-
Vincent dared to raise his head, breathing heavily, watching as Xulchibara calmed him?self down... he was, of course, eager for more, but as this had no real resemblance to any sort of ritual he knew, he was as much trying to learn the ways of it, as enjoy himself...
-
"NoW....You must focus, Priest."
The God spoke, his words cut off slightly by the snap of sharpened teeth.
Rising from his position, he left Vincent where he lay bleeding, and crossed carefully to the small table.
This being the first time the prophet had seen his Lord's naked back, it would be a rather odd sight.
White skin glowed angrily with a circular pattern of flowing script. Words that connected to form sentences that connected again and again in a spiral of ancient tongues no mortal could speak.
They shifted and writhed across his skin as the massive seal strained to retain the inferno of energies raging within the God himself. Not that he would have a point of reference, but the seal was near-always ghostly, almost invisible as it turned sluggishly across flesh.
When he turned back toward Vincent, the glint of silvery metal briefly caught the wane lamplight, and on closer inspection ( if one was capable and so inclined) the glint would resolve itself into one of the exquisitely honed fletchettes from the set on the table.
Held loosely in the God's opposing hand was the bowl with oddly chaotic engravings.
Returning to his earlier position between Vincent's legs, the God kept his eyes somewhat averted. The blaze within was far too bright to be hidden entirely by this gesture, but Vincent needed to pay attention to Xulchilbara's words, not his touch or the horror within.
" There are several methods with which to achieve the next step in Maithuna." He said, speaking very precisely and slow, as though retaining his human voice was a challenge.
" I have taken the liberty of providing you with a blade-" which he then slipped the razor edge of into his mouth, and withdrew it slowly enough that it became coated in fine spiderweb traceries of Vincent's blood." -yet it must always be covered in a part of you. Be it blood, or saliva, the instrument you use to cut with must be of your own flesh."
He offerred the fletchette hilt-first. " Do you understand me, priest?"
-
Vincent wasn't sure he did. he took the blade anyway.
unfortunately all the rest, the runes, the thing in the bowl- were lost on him, as he wasn't allowed to wear his glasses for this ritual and so were a blur...
"Lord?" he asked timidly, "I don't understand. what must I do?"
-
A flash of too many pointed teeth could have been meant as a smile, but the effect was somehow disengenuous.
" You must open the five gates on this body as I have done to you." He explained, still speaking slowly & precisely.
His now freed hand rose slightly to carress the bloodied mess trickling down Vincent's chest, the searing effect more of a stab of pleasure-pain as it was now timed to the heartbeat-like pull and release.
" Cut me, Vincent, as I have cut you." he said simply. "You may do so with teeth, nails, or the blooded blade I have given you....but I will warn you that your nails will most likely not suffice, and if you do wish to use teeth.." the hand descended to cup the prophet's bleeding arousal. " Do not hesitate. Use ...force"
The God removed his hand from sucha distracting position and continued, while still carefully he had an air of practical imparting of knowledge."Before you begin you must repeat what I first spoke before opening the gate on your brow; 'Tied ver van banya'....which is " Flesh of my flesh.'" Another shudder caused the subtle purring to overtake him when the crest of energy lapping within the raised circle returned.
If it wasn't obvious the burning power Xulchilbara had already raised and kept within would not remain restrained forever...and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold onto the self-control needed to impart the necessities of this aspect of binding.
"Prepare yourself...the release of such power I have shielded you from until it could more safely run it's course."
Blazing eyes glanced up and away very quickly, but the churning lights still illuminated a part of the darkened fabric where the God kept them firmly averted.
" You will be burned as no fire may cause...".
-
'Tied ver van banya', Vincent intoned carefully, and began to carefully try to replicate the pattern of cuts. Although the licking seemed to have been something the god merely had done to arouse him and amuse himself- gods, no doubt, crave blood or there'd not be so many rituals that included it- Vincent dared to repeat that as well. He could always feign innocense and claim that he thought that had been a part of it...
-
With the raw power pushing itself against him, the God could not help a deep resonating growl at such intimate attentions...he even went so far as to slide one hand through the human's hair and draw him away, back up to mingle both of thier bloodied mouths before the fire could destroy coherent thought.
..And destroy it did, for between one breath in the next the rage of powerful majicks did not so much rise, as burst the shields that had held it in check.
A psychic invocation so pure and intense it manifested itself physically( which was almost unheard of unless one possessed a greater ability to see with the third eye) as a ghost fire.
The dancing flames that licked along skin and jumped in blueish tints from master to servant, then back again.
It was madness at it's most sublime....where everything was a floating between form, and formless...like a reverberating call and response the forging fire raced through one set of senses, then travelled the connection back again.
This was a raw energy that could consume even the Red God in it's wake...it was a force of creation that could not be stopped, only chanelled in a desired direction.
Fingers laced tight together, the new master used his more imposing stature and strength to coax the servant onto his back without breaking the press of blood to blood; mouth to mouth.
True, the binding was meant to be sealed with any intimate act, but that was a rather broad interpretation.....and after Vincent's little streak of daring, the God wanted his prophet flat on his back and screaming under him once again....only this time there would be no worry of killing the more fragile human.
In the rushing eldritch fires, a large part of Vincent's mortality had been consumed whether he realized it or not.
Vincent's desired power culminated there...but this was more than just a transfer of energies. It was also a fusion of soul, and the binding was still unfinished.
The God was curling around his servant now that the burn had moved off in it's ceaseless flight.
Was Xulchilbara tired?
Oh very much so...it had taken a good deal out of him to contain the power they had called until it could be safely transferred, and perhaps this accounted for his desire to simply suck the blood from his new servant's tongue, and enjoy the delightful press of the servant's cock against his belly; the blood making them both slick, and thus movement was easier.
Almost lazily, the God shifted slightly to run one hand between the press of thier flesh, and in so doing coat his fingers in thier mingled blood.
A predatory smile chased away the fatigue in his expression as he sat back on his heels....then with only a moment for the flare of fire to warn the prophet, a digit from the God's blood coated hand traced the smooth underside of Vincent's arousal.
The burning line of contact trailed down, down...then slowly pressed, and worked the blood-slicked finger into the man's tight body.
The God did not wait for Vincent to relax completly. Instead almost as soon as the servant was lubricated, the master added a second finger and started to scissor the two digits apart.
His other hand, meanwhile, circled the man's rather prominent arousal, and with two fingers encircling thebase, added what was intended as a leg-trembling pressure.
It was not long before the effects of Vincent's earlier 'daring' added to the newer stimulation made the God impatient, but the servant seemed ready enough.....
Switching hands in order to still keep the pressure on his erection ( yet careful not to yet allow more stimulation ), the master licked his fingers, thus adding more blood and saliva to the impromptu lubricant..and spread this across himself.
"Tied ver van banya", the God Ground out, a pushed himself into Vincent's body, only to withdrawl rather partially.
Flesh of my flesh he repeated, though translated, within Vincent's mind.
"Tied torz van banya". Again another thrust, this one deeper than the first.
Blood of my blood
"Tied mulani vannnn baNyA" Again, deeper still.
Breath of my breath
"En HaTalMaBa oN." Again, this time making certain to bring himself into contact with the sensitive area of the human's prostate.
Your life to mine
" SaY iT., the master said, his voice little more than a possessive growl; the first command from master to servant.
-
Vincent yowled, tensing as he felt the moment of penetration. his muscles tightened, spasmed, released, feeling the burn of the inistent pushing against his inner workings.
he wanted to repeat the words he was being told, but there was only this, and this was everything. his teeth were gritted, a silly grin of pure joy and strain. he tried, but each time he was rammed into, his words became howls...
-
A growl of menace, and the master thrust particularly sharply into his servant's body...then stopped moving all together.
Not without cost, however, for the God's legs were trembling from a fatigue that had more to do with the soul ( if one could call what inhabited this body a soul) than the physical.
Connected as deeply, and intimately as possible, Xulchilbara's eyes shone with the destructive fire of twin stars in the frozen wasteland of space. They promised to kill this human if he was unable, or unwilling to finish the ritual; to make such a waist of such powerful majick.
Trembling, but otherwise unmoving, the God bared sharpened teeth at the servant...his voice matching the warning in his eyes.
SaY It......NOW.
-
It took Vincent a few moments to calm his rapidly beating heart, to ground himself again.
He knew what was expected of him, and he repeated the words.
"Tied ver... van ba-nya....
"Tied..... torz van banya....
"Tied... m-mulani van... banya
En hatalmaba.... on!"
Almost before the last syllable, Xulchilbara withdrew and thrust again, causing Vincent to squeeze his eyes shut, and gasp at the sensation overload.
-
Sound; thousands of speaking, screaming, weeping voice that eventually blurred in thier numbers to become simply static. Inderminate in thier mass were gradually overriden by another sound; a strange organic grinding...like a lock clicking into place.
Touch; a warmth that was reminiscent of standing too close to open flame, and that if one lingered, one would undoubtedly begin to smolder, to burn.....become nothing but more fuel to the fire.
Taste: the coppery tang of blood. Hot and fresh and alive with it's own vitality; what the color crimson should taste like.
A forging in fire and flesh of strong chains.
Chains connecting the God to the prophet.
The man to the monster.
The master to the servant.
Chains made from the raw materials of the universe; of emotion and thought.
Yet also built with the essencesof the body; blood, semen, and saliva.
Tempered with the oldest forms of majick, and sealed with choice.
Everything Vincent had asked, he recieved.....though all things have thier price.
Blood for blood.
Flesh for flesh.
Breath for breath.
A soul for the fire.
Rating; NC-17 ( sex & violence, yum! )
Characters; Xulchilbara
revelations9x6, Vincent snarky_padre_vSummary; Bound in flesh and fire.
Log;
There is a muffling quality to the air in placed such as these. Corridors that have not seen living inhabitants for some time whisper to one another after the disturbance has passed them by.
The way is marked easily for those with the eyes to see it; the very occasional candleflame...though the light is wane at best, and the further whispered footsteps descend the more prevelent those occasional dances in the dark alight on something wet, yet could not truly be called 'alive'.
The servants gather and whisper to each other with tongueless mouths of the disturbance in the house.
" Who is it?"
"It disturbs."
" Not mother.."
"Not master?"
"Who, who?"
They whisper and writhe, and follow...always out of the reach of the lights, but never far behind.
Deeper into the rabbit hole, did alice fall...until she encountered a door.
Or rather, the path ended with no more turns, and no more corridor.
Simply a door of unremarkable make; aged wood in an aged stone frame.
Perhaps there is intent to knock, and that intent is known before the sound can break the hushed chittering.
Beyond is vaulted space, a room of indeterminate size for light is a rare occurence, and the simple glow of an older modelled hurricane lamp casts more shadow than it illuminates.
At odds with the surroundings is a simple, but elegantly comfortable pair of red-leathered wooden chairs set at angles about a small circular table. The table holds the lamp, but also a small eclectic array of objects.
A stack of weathered photographs, three impecably cleaned flechettes that shone with a silvery razor's edge and contained the cold promises of delicate pain in thier slim shafts and curving blades.
These sit on a cleaning cloth, and beyond them a simple wooden bowl covered, seemingly at random, with inlaid symbols that have a tendency to shift and change if the viewer removes thier attentions from it.
Just at the edge of the lamp's light a cloth of the same indeterminate dark color as much of the occupent's favored attire, covers a roughly rectangular shape that lays directly on the weathered carpets that make an island in the middle of the room's flagstones.
In truth the room now has three occupents; The dark man who's dress and demeanor was as close to casual as he ever came.
A dark red ( or perhaps not?) dressing gown wraps shoulders and arms, then drops to brush his ankles, leaving a strip of white, smooth skin visible from shoulder to hip, and then a single bared leg crossed at the ankle over the opposing knee.
He sits in silence and seems to be listening intently to the opposing silence of...well...what could only be described as a humanoid figure wrapped in bindings of flesh, and something possibly darker; more visceral.
The door opening interrupts the choking, gurgles of what passes for communication from this 'servent', and both the dark angel, and grotesquerie pause and look over.
" You are late.", the soft cadence of the dark man's speech is the first disturbance of intelligible sound in these whispering shadows.
-
"Am I?" Vincent blinked, surprised by the light at the end of the tunnel, as it were, "Well. it was hard to find my way around. and then, of course, Keico took her time bringing me my new vestments..." he had not entirely heeded the girl's message, and was wearing his glasses. this was probably just as well, or it would have taken him a lot longer to get here, being woefully near sighted without them... he narrowed his eyes as he took in the ritual implements. Something was afoot, but...was he not the only one expected?
--
A single gesture of dismissal is given; an elegant motion without concern from one comfortable with command, and the horror abases itself....then skitters away into the impenetrable darkness beyond.
"She is no longer your concern, my dear." he replies, this excuse is irrelevant, for those odd eyes make twin lights that supercede the wane lamplight, and pin the supplicant in place.
" I believe I made it clear that you were to leave all other personal effects behind?" he says simply, though there is something very wrong with the undertone. Something not yet frightening, but has the potential to be.
Thoughtfully the dark man rests his chin in one hand and studies the puzzled human at his door.
Quick as a flash, and as silent as a shadow, an unseen appendage that may have been meant to pass for an arm snatches out and removes the offending glasses from the supplicants face, then disappears back into the shadows above the door.
At some point during those seconds of distraction, the dark man had risen from the chair and crossed a space that would have been impossible to do in so short a time, even at a dead run.
...But trivialities aside, he was now in close proximity to the supplicant, divided now by only by bare inches...and yet...the presence that ever-cloaked him was...less.
As though the muffling quality of the air had also dampened the chaotic discord that those eyes still radiated.
Odd? perhaps.....or perhaps explained if the supplicant were to look down and note that between the doorway, and the dark man there was a smearing splash of crimson, with equally alien marks to those of the bowl wiped into the thick fluid.
To look beyond, this circle curved off into the shadows the lamp could not touch, but came around again to be easily infferred to be completly connected.
"Do you know why I summoned you? Why I have allowed you to see this far into my private rooms?"
The sibilant tone seemed to reach for the priest, to want desperately to draw him in, but until the human understood, and thus decided to cross this last threshold, it would now....and forever more be an echo, a memory of one night, and one kiss.
-
"Hey!" Vincent panicked as his glasses were snatched away from him; there was nothing so vulnerable as being unable to see properly.
he could sense Xuchilbara nearby tho, and tried to calm himself. "Because of the one arguing with you?" Vincent ventured a guess.
-
More allowances for the supplicant, now that his vision was impaired.
" Yes....and I believe you stated that you wished to find the 'strength' to withstand a more...prolonged intensity, he replied.
A calculating light flared in the spiralling depths of the dark man's eyes; a creature at intimate study.
"You now have another choice to make, Vincent." He continued, his voice purring, wrapping itself around the supplicant's name and pressing against it's syllables.
" There are two ways for you to achieve your...'tolerance'...One:- " He held out a hand as though weighing one choice with the other for the prophet's sake. "- I come to you when I can find the moments to spare, and we speak....and only speak." A pouting edge to the tone now, a feigned dislike for this option. " We do not touch in any way, we do not become in closer proximity than thus." the hand indicates the divide absently.
" You will return to your quarters, and you will become my prophet, and nothing more."Those burning eyes looked away, as though the idea might pain the dark man....and it would have been a believable display had he not ever been betrayed by the mocking cruelty in those eyes.
"Or..." A flare of brightness, of predatory interest, and the opposing hand rose to weigh the second choice. " You can choose, of your own free will, to come with me, now..."
A smile that was no smile at all....but rather a cruel smirk " Choose me thrice over....and bind yourself to me in fire.." a brighter flare of dark light behind those eyes...a hungry look. "...and flesh."
Arms both now out, the dressing gown left little a larger expanse of white skin that with a deep breath could leave nothing to the imagination at all.
Here, posed as still as a marble carved statue in an open and ready embrace...
You may step into my parlor....said the spider to the fly...
-
A choice...that was really no choice at all. The god already knew how madly infatuated Vincent was, and if fire was all he need brave, he was eager to burn.
The preacher had, since his arrival, become more than a little mad in his devotion and, as a creature already addicted to pain, the god would have to marvel if somehow he built up the willpower to suddenly refuse what he was being offered.
Vincent was power-hungry, greedy, lustful...and near-sighted in more than just the physical.
When he set his heart upon a goal, no one and nothing stood in the way of him trying to attain it. "I will come with you." he said, simply.
-
Those hands outstretched, just a gesture away..." You must cross on your own, Vincent. I can not force you."
Cross the circle...and commit to becoming that much less human...
-
He had to look down to do it. Mindfully aware of the pace of his feet lest he stumble and, in so doing, seem all the more awkward to his lord... he already was aware his human condition, as it were, was part of what Xuchilbara found lacking in him and, to be sure, he was aware that what power would be offered him was something he wanted as much as the god's approval and touch...
... he stepped into the circle.
-
As though the circle itself were an invisible curtain, the presense that was The Red God's nature washed over Vincent like a thick liquid.
....And then receeded.
Not gone, simply further away...as a wave withdrawls from shore only to be pushed forth again by it's relentless mistress, the moon.
So too, between one heartbeat and the next did the sense, that oddly visceral, yet undefinable sense of heat, of chaotic sensations move off.
In, and out...in and out.
Like breathing, only complex in it's simplicity.
Somewhere between one wave and the next the dark man grasped Vincent's hands, but this only heightened the pull and release so that when the wave came it was intense, but then receeded more completly and stayed gone for a minute, possibly two.
"Disrobe." It was not a request.
-
He did as he was asked, clearly eager to be rid of the stiff collar of his shirt, as he tossed that aside first.
he unbuttoned the shirt and slid it off his thin shoulders, letting the material fall to the floor behind him. he fumbled with the top button of his pants and then undid the zipper with shaking hands, letting the pants pool around his ankles.
A little self consciously he cupped his hands over his genitals, standing otherwise more or less at ease.
-
Eyes that left trails of burning ice watched impassively.
Once finished, the wave responded in accordance and swallowed the supplicant in the pleasure-pain of it embrace.
Helf-lidded human eyes glazed for a moment, and when the wave receeded the dark man was close...so close that where Vincent to take a deep breath he would be pressed against his lord.
Those awful eyes flared with a possessive light, and almost without perceptible movement the dark man's loosely fitting dressing gown descended to join the other soft piles of cloth.
Gazes locked...locked, and held.. The priest watched, half-frightened, half-awed, as the God came closer, and closer...until there was nothing seperating the heated silk of his lord's white skin from the fine shivering flesh of the priest's abdomnen.
A briefest touch of lips, and Vincent was being pushed backwards a slow step at a time. Pushed not with hands, but with flesh, with eyes...with the simple will of the God, until he came into contact with the cloth-covered shape ( which proved to be a bed whose strewn pillows matched, and thus blended with the dark fabric covering it.)
A sharp, imperceptible movement of a hand; a single flick of a white wrist had Vincent sprawled on his back across a texture that was reminiscent of silk...or perhaps velvet? It was difficult to tell.
No time was allotted for more trivialities as suddenly as the hand had pushed him away, the God was stradling his prophet; a hysterical greed lighting his flame-colored eyes.
"Tied ver van banya" he growled with a grin from above the priest, raw aching want flowed out from this proximity to wrap itself like a living thing around the human.....but while the priest rode that wave, the God was leaning down, taking hold of his prophet's throat....Then bringing as much of that pale, burning flesh to contact....Yes, burning, no chill in evidence now as a heat hotter than meer fire scorched it's way through the prophet's mind.
Searing and carving a symbol.
A name.
Simultaneously the God pressed one razored nail into the flesh of Vincent's forehead and cut a perfect line.
Blood sprang forth immeadiately, but the blade-edge pressed again to cross the line with another.
It flowed easily, joyfully down away from the human's eyes...leaving crimson trails at it's passage.
Beneath the blood, and the cuts, a symbol glowed to life.
It throbbed at the nearness of it's master, and only added to the fires within.
-
Vincent didn't know the words...he could read the runes a bit, but most of the Order's books were translations. and then of course it didn't matter, because his attention was fully on Xulchibara...and the pain and pleasure that was being visited upon him.
the only thing he direly wished was that he could see more clearly the things being done.
It maddened him for this all to be such a blur...
-
That mad, knowing, smile stayed in place as the God regarded the bleeding priest.
It seemed a terrible shame that so much was dependent on a single sense...
Seeking to rectify this, the red god leaned down again...but this time to press a surprisingly tender kiss against his prophet's mouth.
One mark had flared to life under the master's touch, and now with the press of flesh to flesh, the second over Vincent's heart glowed as well.
A purring sort of pleased sound elicited from the God at the second reaction......and without warning that gentled kiss became fierce as a the prophet's toungue was bitten.
Bitten hard enough that both could taste the copper tang of blood here as well.
The Red God made a noise very like a groan at the taste...the wonderful taste...and a more prolonged spike of ecstatic pain melted through his own form...but whether, with two marks active and responding, Vincent was as ....overcome...as in previous encounters was up for debate.
-
Vincent could of course feel all of these things as they occured; the marks, in particular were of interest to him.
He had, without realizing it, responded to Henry's the other day- a momentary twinge of jealousy clouded his mind as he wondered how many 'chosen ones' the god had anyway.
Although he was neither invited or, for all he knew, permitted, he put his arms out, hoping to draw the god closer. What was supposed to burn and chill the soul with fear did the opposite to him; Vincent found himself aroused by the contact, in ways he had never felt with any of the women he had bought with the church's money... but...this was a ceremony and he was not about to ruin it with his own needs. he waited to see what would happen next..
-
Allowed, permitted, and even encouraged.
Yes, this was ritual, but it is made much less powerful, much less binding when one or the other party does not feel the strength of it.
Resuming a higher position, the god laced one hand's fingers through the prophet's own and grinned a sharpened, malicious smile.
His own mouth was blooded, indeed it was painted in blood as though the red god had been standing beneath an open vein.
This is the nature of blood, however. The human body only contains twelve pints in total...but once that quantity was released from it's fleshy confines it inevitably appeared as though a mad artist had been painting with decidedly more on hand.
His infernal dancing eyes made his expression shift from near-doting, to predatory, then back again.
One set of fingers laced with the prophet's, the God used his free hand to trace the line of Vincent's bloodied lips, then barely touching all the while, drew it down until it hovered over the darkly lit sigil on Vincent's chest.
" ConCeNtrate,....... kamlo..." He said, his voice slipping between the human affectation, and the closer approximation of his true voice as he spoke.
"You do not need glass to see me" True enough, for this ritual was meant as a binding, yes, but as with any constructed circuit; that which passes into, may also be drawn upon. Well, within certain limits...and yes, while those limits were very new, and fragile, but being able to see clearly within a raised circle, during the drawing of yet more of the chaotic, primal power that made up the very nature of The Red God should not be difficult.
Another beatific smile, again betrayed by blood on his lips, the fire within his eyes, and the God pushed another cut into the flesh over Vincent's heart.
Not deeply, mind....but enough to open the gate...to make the blood flow.
-
Vincent winced, twitched, hissed...but in the end no manner of bodily reactions would stave off the feel of pain which, due to the way he had been wired sometime back, surpassed all pleasures in its sublime expression...his nerves tingled, echoing the pain back and forth across the pathways of neurons.
Vincent was told to see but to see would be too much for him now...he just wanted to feel. He closed his eyes.
The god would just have to forgive him for this...
-
Forgiveness was not a part of The Red God's nature, but in knowing that the intent behind the actions; the words, the blood, the pain made the prophet's inclination to lose himself in that ecstatic sensation understandable, and possibly even beneficial.
The purring resumed, and increased in cadence as the God moved to first slide his knee between Vincent's thighs, then settle there while letting his spattered hands glide in one prolonged touch from the human's shoulders, across his chest, then to pause in what could be called a favored position considering the marks that already curved angrily across the skin, at the man's hips.
Three gates opened, and the pull and release of raw power was becoming more noticeable.
This had far surpassed the God's own indefinably chaotic presense and crossed into something far less recognizable, yet wholly dangerous.
Darkly lit eyes flicked once to the prophet's face, enjoying the look they found there....then almost as an afterthought, the bladed thumbnail flicked across skin just below the navel.
Another key locked into place, and this time, the incoming tide caused the Red God himself to shiver very lightly.
Oh yes, he was perfectly capable of feeling the pleasure-pain mix his touch exuded, but the rawer elemental majicks were beggining to supercede the constant discord that surrounded him.
The flaring brightness lingered when he opened his eyes again, but they also shone with a feral gleam...a wanting that could be interpreted as either lust, or ( and possibly more acurately) bloodlust.
The purring vibration that had kept and undertone throughout this exchange rose fractionally, but likewise lingered in it's subtle bass.
The God's horrific eyes watched the blood beading from the most recent cut...and almost as though he seemed unaware of it, he leaned down and ran an unsettlingly elongated toungue across Vincent's bloodied skin.
-
Vincent's eyes were just as clouded with excitement, and he was attentive not just to the ministrations to his body, but to the ritual itself.
This wasn't something he had been taught in seminary. He wondered if it predated the Order's rituals.
He wanted to speak, but wasn't sure if that would be appropriate.
Instead, he laid back, aware of his heartbeat as his wounds throbbed in time with it.
-
The time for questions and talk would be quite soon....as the God did not linger over the fourth gate and it's crimson tears.
Very precisely the god aligned one hand in the central miridian of the prophet's body, index finger touching the first gate on Vincent's brow.
Slowly, and almost gently, he drew a line from the first blood welling from the cut on Vincent's forehead, to skim the human's mouth, then curve under his chin, and follow the path from throat to sternum, to belly leaving an unbroken crimson mark where it passed.
Down and down, until the line ended at the very base of the prophets's cock.
Another quick flick of brightly lit eyes that sought Vincent's own to hold captive.It did not matter if the human could see detail, the red God was more interested in watching the expressions chase across his prophet's face as starting from where the crimson line ended, that searing heat joined a fluidic sesnation; The Red God licking from base to tip of the fifth gate.
With only a breath of pause, and that ever-subtle vibration, the God retraced his path....only instead of simply licking his way along; blood-painted lips parted and surrounded the human to descend oh so slowly.
Once comfortably situated, the God withdrew just as carefully, mindful of sharpened teeth, then with eyes that would only slide closed from one wave's return tot he next, descend in a rhythm that was intended to be torturous in it's tenderness.
-
".....!" if Vincent was trying to follow what was happening with simple reverence and pomp to the idea of ritual significance, that was certainly going to change the way of his thinking. As he had been lying as still as he could, hoping not to accidentally put out any of the candles or seem irreverent in his attitude, obviously this was simply going to make him respond as any human would; he groaned, desperately wanting more of that to happen.
-
The common misconception that the oldest majicks are mysterious and awe inspiring is a prevelant one.
The oldest and most powerful of energies stem directly from the three stages of life: To be born, to breed and to die. Death, and it's cousin energies were as much a part of the God's nature as sex and it's significance.
This was a binding, "Maithuna", or union. In what had become a lewd or dirty act amongst many western religions lay the keys to giving over oneself to powers far older than a man on a cross.
That groan sounded sweeter in it's simple desperation than any music to the god...and on the final withdrawl he was less mindful of sharpened teeth, thus allowing the smallest of nips to end that particular pull of lips and tongue.
A bead of blood swelled and tasted exquisite on his tongue, but the enjoyment was short lived as with the release of the fifth and final gate, an in-rushing elemental fire broke like a burning wave over the god.
He drew away and hissed with a wracking shudder....yes it was painful simply because there was nowhere for the energy to go. Much like electrical current, this tide of majick needed a closed circuit to run it's course; it needed a master to match the servent.
Through sheer force of will Xulchilbara forced the rampant burning down, and held it locked within himself...but it did require a solid minute before he was able to draw breath to fuel the human body he inhabited.
-
Vincent dared to raise his head, breathing heavily, watching as Xulchibara calmed him?self down... he was, of course, eager for more, but as this had no real resemblance to any sort of ritual he knew, he was as much trying to learn the ways of it, as enjoy himself...
-
"NoW....You must focus, Priest."
The God spoke, his words cut off slightly by the snap of sharpened teeth.
Rising from his position, he left Vincent where he lay bleeding, and crossed carefully to the small table.
This being the first time the prophet had seen his Lord's naked back, it would be a rather odd sight.
White skin glowed angrily with a circular pattern of flowing script. Words that connected to form sentences that connected again and again in a spiral of ancient tongues no mortal could speak.
They shifted and writhed across his skin as the massive seal strained to retain the inferno of energies raging within the God himself. Not that he would have a point of reference, but the seal was near-always ghostly, almost invisible as it turned sluggishly across flesh.
When he turned back toward Vincent, the glint of silvery metal briefly caught the wane lamplight, and on closer inspection ( if one was capable and so inclined) the glint would resolve itself into one of the exquisitely honed fletchettes from the set on the table.
Held loosely in the God's opposing hand was the bowl with oddly chaotic engravings.
Returning to his earlier position between Vincent's legs, the God kept his eyes somewhat averted. The blaze within was far too bright to be hidden entirely by this gesture, but Vincent needed to pay attention to Xulchilbara's words, not his touch or the horror within.
" There are several methods with which to achieve the next step in Maithuna." He said, speaking very precisely and slow, as though retaining his human voice was a challenge.
" I have taken the liberty of providing you with a blade-" which he then slipped the razor edge of into his mouth, and withdrew it slowly enough that it became coated in fine spiderweb traceries of Vincent's blood." -yet it must always be covered in a part of you. Be it blood, or saliva, the instrument you use to cut with must be of your own flesh."
He offerred the fletchette hilt-first. " Do you understand me, priest?"
-
Vincent wasn't sure he did. he took the blade anyway.
unfortunately all the rest, the runes, the thing in the bowl- were lost on him, as he wasn't allowed to wear his glasses for this ritual and so were a blur...
"Lord?" he asked timidly, "I don't understand. what must I do?"
-
A flash of too many pointed teeth could have been meant as a smile, but the effect was somehow disengenuous.
" You must open the five gates on this body as I have done to you." He explained, still speaking slowly & precisely.
His now freed hand rose slightly to carress the bloodied mess trickling down Vincent's chest, the searing effect more of a stab of pleasure-pain as it was now timed to the heartbeat-like pull and release.
" Cut me, Vincent, as I have cut you." he said simply. "You may do so with teeth, nails, or the blooded blade I have given you....but I will warn you that your nails will most likely not suffice, and if you do wish to use teeth.." the hand descended to cup the prophet's bleeding arousal. " Do not hesitate. Use ...force"
The God removed his hand from sucha distracting position and continued, while still carefully he had an air of practical imparting of knowledge."Before you begin you must repeat what I first spoke before opening the gate on your brow; 'Tied ver van banya'....which is " Flesh of my flesh.'" Another shudder caused the subtle purring to overtake him when the crest of energy lapping within the raised circle returned.
If it wasn't obvious the burning power Xulchilbara had already raised and kept within would not remain restrained forever...and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold onto the self-control needed to impart the necessities of this aspect of binding.
"Prepare yourself...the release of such power I have shielded you from until it could more safely run it's course."
Blazing eyes glanced up and away very quickly, but the churning lights still illuminated a part of the darkened fabric where the God kept them firmly averted.
" You will be burned as no fire may cause...".
-
'Tied ver van banya', Vincent intoned carefully, and began to carefully try to replicate the pattern of cuts. Although the licking seemed to have been something the god merely had done to arouse him and amuse himself- gods, no doubt, crave blood or there'd not be so many rituals that included it- Vincent dared to repeat that as well. He could always feign innocense and claim that he thought that had been a part of it...
-
With the raw power pushing itself against him, the God could not help a deep resonating growl at such intimate attentions...he even went so far as to slide one hand through the human's hair and draw him away, back up to mingle both of thier bloodied mouths before the fire could destroy coherent thought.
..And destroy it did, for between one breath in the next the rage of powerful majicks did not so much rise, as burst the shields that had held it in check.
A psychic invocation so pure and intense it manifested itself physically( which was almost unheard of unless one possessed a greater ability to see with the third eye) as a ghost fire.
The dancing flames that licked along skin and jumped in blueish tints from master to servant, then back again.
It was madness at it's most sublime....where everything was a floating between form, and formless...like a reverberating call and response the forging fire raced through one set of senses, then travelled the connection back again.
This was a raw energy that could consume even the Red God in it's wake...it was a force of creation that could not be stopped, only chanelled in a desired direction.
Fingers laced tight together, the new master used his more imposing stature and strength to coax the servant onto his back without breaking the press of blood to blood; mouth to mouth.
True, the binding was meant to be sealed with any intimate act, but that was a rather broad interpretation.....and after Vincent's little streak of daring, the God wanted his prophet flat on his back and screaming under him once again....only this time there would be no worry of killing the more fragile human.
In the rushing eldritch fires, a large part of Vincent's mortality had been consumed whether he realized it or not.
Vincent's desired power culminated there...but this was more than just a transfer of energies. It was also a fusion of soul, and the binding was still unfinished.
The God was curling around his servant now that the burn had moved off in it's ceaseless flight.
Was Xulchilbara tired?
Oh very much so...it had taken a good deal out of him to contain the power they had called until it could be safely transferred, and perhaps this accounted for his desire to simply suck the blood from his new servant's tongue, and enjoy the delightful press of the servant's cock against his belly; the blood making them both slick, and thus movement was easier.
Almost lazily, the God shifted slightly to run one hand between the press of thier flesh, and in so doing coat his fingers in thier mingled blood.
A predatory smile chased away the fatigue in his expression as he sat back on his heels....then with only a moment for the flare of fire to warn the prophet, a digit from the God's blood coated hand traced the smooth underside of Vincent's arousal.
The burning line of contact trailed down, down...then slowly pressed, and worked the blood-slicked finger into the man's tight body.
The God did not wait for Vincent to relax completly. Instead almost as soon as the servant was lubricated, the master added a second finger and started to scissor the two digits apart.
His other hand, meanwhile, circled the man's rather prominent arousal, and with two fingers encircling thebase, added what was intended as a leg-trembling pressure.
It was not long before the effects of Vincent's earlier 'daring' added to the newer stimulation made the God impatient, but the servant seemed ready enough.....
Switching hands in order to still keep the pressure on his erection ( yet careful not to yet allow more stimulation ), the master licked his fingers, thus adding more blood and saliva to the impromptu lubricant..and spread this across himself.
"Tied ver van banya", the God Ground out, a pushed himself into Vincent's body, only to withdrawl rather partially.
Flesh of my flesh he repeated, though translated, within Vincent's mind.
"Tied torz van banya". Again another thrust, this one deeper than the first.
Blood of my blood
"Tied mulani vannnn baNyA" Again, deeper still.
Breath of my breath
"En HaTalMaBa oN." Again, this time making certain to bring himself into contact with the sensitive area of the human's prostate.
Your life to mine
" SaY iT., the master said, his voice little more than a possessive growl; the first command from master to servant.
-
Vincent yowled, tensing as he felt the moment of penetration. his muscles tightened, spasmed, released, feeling the burn of the inistent pushing against his inner workings.
he wanted to repeat the words he was being told, but there was only this, and this was everything. his teeth were gritted, a silly grin of pure joy and strain. he tried, but each time he was rammed into, his words became howls...
-
A growl of menace, and the master thrust particularly sharply into his servant's body...then stopped moving all together.
Not without cost, however, for the God's legs were trembling from a fatigue that had more to do with the soul ( if one could call what inhabited this body a soul) than the physical.
Connected as deeply, and intimately as possible, Xulchilbara's eyes shone with the destructive fire of twin stars in the frozen wasteland of space. They promised to kill this human if he was unable, or unwilling to finish the ritual; to make such a waist of such powerful majick.
Trembling, but otherwise unmoving, the God bared sharpened teeth at the servant...his voice matching the warning in his eyes.
SaY It......NOW.
-
It took Vincent a few moments to calm his rapidly beating heart, to ground himself again.
He knew what was expected of him, and he repeated the words.
"Tied ver... van ba-nya....
"Tied..... torz van banya....
"Tied... m-mulani van... banya
En hatalmaba.... on!"
Almost before the last syllable, Xulchilbara withdrew and thrust again, causing Vincent to squeeze his eyes shut, and gasp at the sensation overload.
-
Sound; thousands of speaking, screaming, weeping voice that eventually blurred in thier numbers to become simply static. Inderminate in thier mass were gradually overriden by another sound; a strange organic grinding...like a lock clicking into place.
Touch; a warmth that was reminiscent of standing too close to open flame, and that if one lingered, one would undoubtedly begin to smolder, to burn.....become nothing but more fuel to the fire.
Taste: the coppery tang of blood. Hot and fresh and alive with it's own vitality; what the color crimson should taste like.
A forging in fire and flesh of strong chains.
Chains connecting the God to the prophet.
The man to the monster.
The master to the servant.
Chains made from the raw materials of the universe; of emotion and thought.
Yet also built with the essencesof the body; blood, semen, and saliva.
Tempered with the oldest forms of majick, and sealed with choice.
Everything Vincent had asked, he recieved.....though all things have thier price.
Blood for blood.
Flesh for flesh.
Breath for breath.
A soul for the fire.