Phantasmagoria

Phantasmagoria

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DISCLAIMER:

The Song of the Wind and Trees (Kaze to Ki no Uta) is copyrighted to Keiko Takemiya. The characters of this work are used WITHOUT permission strictly for entertainment and not for sale or profit.

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Dedication:

This fic\'s dedicated to Jan, who was brave enough to encourage me to bring out my inner hentai child. Unfortunately for him, rather than put out a yummy PWP, I eked out something more on the macabre side. ^^;; Someday, though...that down and dirty lemon will happen. Someday.

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The moon hung low in the blackened sky. Serge thought he spotted a few bats flittering clumsily across, their flimsy silhouettes awkward and almost comical. There were some clouds…about half a dozen if the boy took the trouble to count…but they merely floated there, thin, wispy cobwebs heralding the passage of yet another day, taking the world one step closer to infinity. The air was clear and crisp, lightly nipping at the boy’s complexion as he sniffled a little, fingering his sword’s hilt as he turned his attention back to the thick, twisting wall of briars that faced him.

He contemplated the wall in silence, his mind vaguely registering the sound of a distant owl hooting.

The canes were thick at the roots, crawling up and out of the grass to weave in and out of each other as they reached vainly at the sky. Thorns that sprouted throughout the branches were protective armor that kept the decaying castle walls safely tucked away from the rest of the world, allowing the structure’s upper-half to be seen by passersby, seductive in its quiet promise of enchantment and intrigue that awaited the adventurous and the foolish.

And, yes, there was proof enough of foolish hopes…mingling with twisted branches, beckoning leaves, aromatic blooms, and stabbing thorns. Serge felt his blood run cold at the sight of a couple of bodies caught in the organic tapestry…noblemen like him, answering the call of a whispered legend of a court caught in the spell of a vindictive witch.

Bright silks and velvet now hung in faded tatters that flapped gently in the night breeze. Depending on the body, either bleached bones or shrunken, leathery skin seemed propped up by the thorny grave, the vague figures of men barely visible now that decomposition had conquered all.

These were men, Serge noted as his fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, who came to brave the wall, driven by the same dreams and the same ambitions that now propelled him forward, unsheathing his weapon as he strode up to the thicket. Behind him the owl continued its mournful and solitary call.

He swung his sword and began hacking determinedly away at the branches, taking care to turn his face as severed pieces of the thicket dropped around him, thorns scratching exposed skin or getting caught (though momentarily) in azure and gold velvet. He felt the sting…even let out an occasional cry of pain as the injured hedge seemed tght ght him, hindering his progress with angry stabs at his face, arms, and legs. More than twice he had to pause to wriggle away from a cane that had grabbed him from the side, its length snaking around him as though it were alive and equally determined as he was though more in keeping him from discovering the truth of the castle’s legend. Branches seemed to slither across the grassy floor to wrap themselves around his booted legs. Extravagant roses dipped their heads and sought to caress his face with fragrant kisses, distracting in the heaviness of their fragrance and most certainly deadly in their lure.

Serge fought to ignore these impediments as he slashed and cut his way through reluctantly yielding branches. He gritted his teeth as he felt beads of sweat trickle down his back and his face. His hands throbbed with the pain of cuts and stabs, his arms weakening with expended energy.

The bodies of his predecessors continued to appear, marking their progress and the point when exhaustion or injury had finally caught up with them. They were all in various stages of decomposition, of course, and it was all Serge could do to divert his attention from the brutality of his task by determining which body was entombed in thorns first.

It was a macabre method of keeping himself from going mad as the thicket seemed to move around him, closing him in even as he hacked a new path for himself. He hadn’t glanced back to where his horse stood in the moonlight, patiently waiting his master’s return. No, he was goaded on by an overpowering urge to look forward and not back to mark his own progress.

Somehow…and he couldn’t clearly tell from where this thought came…he knew that the hedge closed in on itself behind him, once again entangling branches into complex patterns as they fixed him securely in their midst, damning him, perhaps, to a similare ase as the dead noblemen who were now permanent fixtures in the thicket.

“No,” he hissed as he forced screaming muscles to move, swinging his sword high and wide, increasing the savagery of his cutting. “I won’t fall. I won’t.”

There was, after all, a prize to be won at the end of the line. If he were a good prince…if he were strong enough to conquer the thorny impediment…if his virtue were sufficient to overcome what ancient forces had woven this slithering, pulsing tapestry of wood…there would be that sweet reward…the kind that only a chosen few were so privileged to deserve.

It said so, after all, in all the storybooks.

So Serge pressed on, now filling his mind with thoughts of that reward, suddenly feeling a little giddy at the promise of mystery and enchantment, of spells woven in passion…regretted eventually, perhaps, once the moment had lost its heat (but then again, witches were always irredeemable)…of innocents punished for sins they’d never committed.

Branches continued to reach out for a deadly embrace, thorns glinting dully in the moonlight. Roses bowed for an aromatic kiss and whispered urges for him to stay and linger among them. Glossy leaves waved him over, soothing in their touch as they grazed his wounds. Decaying corpses of doomed noblemen peered through the thicket in mournful silence.

/Look at us,/ they whispered, bones and limbs barely covered with disintegrating flesh stirring faintly in the breeze. /Look at us and see yourself, foolish adventurer. You’ll fail before you even begin. Nothing awaits you beyond the briars...nothing but crumbling stone and blackened chambers, rotting in time as we are. The legends are nothing more than stories crafted by the old who simply wished to keep wayward children in line./

Serge ignored their complaints. “Surely,” he panted as he felt his clothes cling to his skin, damp with sweat and heat, “the briars wouldn’t have been forced to grow here had there not been anything worth redeeming inside.”

/Then you’re a greater fool than any of us,/ a grinning skull hissed as it shifted lightly from the disturbance caused by several nearby branches getting severed from their roots. /And if you don’t meet your end here, you surely will behind the castle walls./

“No…I won’t believe that till I’m there.”

And so the boy continued to wield his sword, his attention now fixed on the crumbling turrets that loomed before him, edging closer and closer as he went. They urged him on silently, their faded and torn pennants flapping lifelessly in the night. The closer he got to the castle, the more desperate the briars seemed to grow as they continued to fling their thorny arms around him in a determined bid to hold him down. The roses now fought to cup his face in their blood-soaked petals for a fatal kiss. Leaves that once waved and caressed now stung his slashed cheeks with furious slaps. And corpses sighed his elegy, bending their heads low in mourning.

Letting out an occasional cry of anger mingled with pain, Serge fought the unearthly resistance that continued to pulse around him.

Yes, there should be something worth saving within the castle walls. Barriers wouldn’t have been erected and spells woven to ensure their longevity had there not been something inside that was cause for such malicious vindictiveness. Serge tried to distract his mind from the pain and fatigue that threatened to tear his system apart by forcing dim recollections of ancient tales told to him by former nurses.

Witches always punished the innocent, he was told. They despised and envied all that was good and beautiful and sought to corrupt everything on which they could put their gnarled, claw-like hands. They spat on the good fortune of others and did what they could to plunge an innocent soul into darkness and decay before his or her heart could be fully formed by the years.

The impossibly thick briar hedge that enclosed this ancient castle was indicative enough of the value of what lay hidden beyond the thorny tomb. Surely what awaited the brave adventurer was something of great beauty. All attempts and all sacrifices had been made in that something’s name.

And Serge understood that the greater the impediment…the greater the challenge…the more priceless the reward.

The young nobleman felt a sudden surge of energy course through him, enlivening weakened limbs and giving them the push needed to cover the remaining dozen feet. And it was to his amazement and excitement that after he’d reached a certain point in the forest of thorns, the brambles seemed to surrender to his blade, falling aside with every sure, swift stroke. The sword sliced through branches with growing ease, and plump roses exploded into a thousand tiny petals that showered the boy as they were shaken violently in their holders. The leaves seemed to hang lifelessly as they were shoved aside or plucked off their branches when Serge pushed forward. The corpses’ sullen whispers gradually fell into a hollow silence that was broken up only by the ongoing massacre of thorn and cane and the periodic hooting of the unseen owl.

Serge broke out into a grim smile of triumph at the sight of the final layer of briars, and he fell upon it with an exultant cry, wildly hacking away with two trembling and weary hands on the sword-hilt.

Then the world opened up before him, and he tumbled into the open night.

He found himself in a courtyard…old and sepulchral in its unnatural silence, the darkness mercifully broken up by the moonlight and allowing the boy a good enough glimpse of his new environment.

“So here we have the witch’s spell,” he breathed, his eyes taking in the scene before him.

All around, still figures lay scattered on the cold floor as though they’d all been struck down where they stood and had remained there for an untold number of years. The bodies of men and women looked completely ravaged by the elements, having fallen in the open courtyard, after all…no doubt the changing seasons, the onset of cold and heat, of sun and rain and snow, had gradually weathered flesh and muscle into petrified leather. Eyeballs had dissolved until eyelids sank into their sockets, giving the faces a ghastly imitation of sight. Noses and mouths shrank into their skulls until the bony details could be traced through the weathered skin, and teeth appeared between melted lips. Hair, once glossy and abundant, merely sprouted out of discolored scalps to frame grotesque heads with bleached strings that had been frizzed by the elements. Serge gingerly touched the braid of what used to be a woman with a finger, and it instantly crumbled, sending shivers up the boy’s spine and a small grunt of disgust out of his throat as he turned away.

He managed to date the corpses’ costumes to about a century before, the knowledge easing his mind somewhat. It felt good, after all, to be able to anchor the present moment to reality, if only to help alleviate the surrealism of the experience.

From every corner, Serge spotted stray brambles creeping out of the shadows like thorny arms reaching out to touch the center, their branches fanned out the farther away from the walls they got, anchoring themselves into the cement floor with gnarled fingers as they clawed blindly onward. Some had overrun a few corpses, snaking over and under them and imprisoning them in their arms, securing them further with the countless thorns that bore into leather-like skin and fused with muscle and bone. Like the doomed noblemen outside the castle walls, the hapless figures of courtiers lay entombed in organic crypts.

But Serge pushed on, following the faint, spectral traces of long-silenced music that hovered in the night air. It was a hundred years before that this same music had been given life by colorful musicians. Now all that was left were the vague echoes that seemed to be captured by the fading walls and the murky darkness of the present.

He walked across the courtyard, reverently sidestepping any body that lay in his path. He reached the main door and pushed it open, amazed that the hinges had not been fused by the weight of the years.

The castle’s interior didn’t seem to be any darker than its exterior, the windows that yawned all around the boy allowing the moonlight to cut through the inky blackness and offer him a safe enough path to follow. Everywhere he looked he spotted more bodies, this time preserved from the elements as they lay protected within the castle walls.

Skin had taken on a whitish-gray pallor as though completely devoid of blood. Hair of every shade stood out in stark contrast against unnaturally pale complexion, and Serge could easily see the outline of eyelashes fanning sunken cheeks, rendering their owners more doll-like in appearance and unnerving the mystified visitor even more. Lips were barely visible as the usual rosiness had long escaped them, the only indication that that a face indeed had lips was the faint line that cut across the skin as though it had been hastily drawn by a careless artist, marking the mouth’s opening…though now it had been fused into permanent silence. As with the bodies in the courtyard, these life-sized dolls lay sprawled where they seemed to have been struck down at their final waking moment. Unlike the bodies outside, however, these ones remained largely intact, the onset of decomposition apparently slow or perhaps even halted by the growing shadows and the protective stones that encased them. Clothing, though faded and even dusty in areas, remained whole, unlike the tattered and decaying fabric that barely concealed the corpses outside. A brief, horrified touch of an exposed hand made Serge shrink away, shuddering from the contact of warm fingertips against dead, cold, and stiff flesh.

Where was his reward?

The faint strains of music continued to fill his ears, and as he plunged deeper into the castle, he began to notice a quiet yet insistent voice mingling itself with the ghostly melody of long-forgotten songs.

The boy paused in his tracks, listening.

Yes, someone was there…alive still…calling for him.

“I’m here,” he replied, stammering, wincing a little as his voice grated his ears.

The voice answered back, but its words were indiscernible still. All the same, Serge allowed it to guide him, using nothing more than instinct to decipher…if only subliminally…the cryptic call and to let it dictate his steps.

He soon found himself walking through black hallways, groping gingerly in the dark and occasionally stumbling over a body. He felt no fear, however, which surprised him. There simply was something in the castle’s makeup that kept his spirits from sinking into terror and perhaps even madness, being surrounded by death everywhere he went.

Perhaps it was the reward…yes, yes, it was most certainly the reward awaiting him that propped up both mind and heart as he was lured deeper and deeper into the lifeless castle.

The promise of enchantment…he’d seen enough of the witch’s curse. The promise of a reward…judging from the severity of the victims’ punishment, the prize was most assuredly a sublime one.

Time seemed to stop its forward push till Serge suddenly found himself standing at the top of the stairs that coiled into itself and spiraled upward toward the highest room in one of the turrets. The boy stood frozen for a moment, blinking his astonishment as he gazed around, unable to recall exactly how he’d managed to reach this point in the castle.

Was he magically transported there? A second or two of confused mental grappling elicited a low, quiet burst of laughter from the boy at the recollection of the mystery voice that had been guiding his steps, however unconsciously.

That must have been it.

Yes, it was it.

/Have you finally come for me?/ The words were now loud and distinct in his mind though they were spoken in a hollow whisper.

Did this mean that he was close to its source?

/You are, yes. Open the door./

Serge blinked, momentarily confounded. The voice…its source…had read his mind. He stared through the murkiness and rested his eyes on the vague outline of a door that stood directly before him.

/Yes, that door. Open it./

His grip on his sword tightened as he walked cautiously forward, holding his breath as he reached out his free hand and gave the handle a firm tug, forcing it to swing outward with a low creak.

/Step inside. I’m in here./

The boy stepped through the threshold and found himself in a chamber. The turret’s walls curved around him in a circle of smooth, gray stone. Directly across from each other gaped two pairs of arching windows, through which filteree moe moonlight. Serge’s gaze followed the diagonal lines of illumination as they sliced through the darkness and spilled onto a bed that stood in the center of the room. It was a curious location, to be sure…as though the bed were deliberately placed there to capture every inch of invading light and so infusing its contents with a preternatural glow.

Serge stepped forward and stopped at the foot of the bed, suddenly frozen by the sight that met him.

Among the thick, rich layers of rumpled brocade and satin lay a boy, completely still. He was in the throes of a deep, deep sleep, judging from the barely discernible rise and fall of his chest. Serge’s gaze wandered over the carelessly sprawled figure and took in the sight of slender proportions, pale skin made even whiter by the light that blanketed it, hair of gold spilling onto plump pillows in glorious disarray, and the vague flush that lightly dusted both cheeks and lips, inviting in their subtle presence.

/See me./

Serge swallowed the growing lump in his throat. He continued to stare, completely unaware that he’d just dropped his sword, not even hearing the loud clatter it made at his feet as it struck the stone floor.

“Shouldn’t this be a…girl?”

Did it matter? This was something he wanted, wasn’t it?

/Pity me./

Something stirred inside the castle’s violator…an odd urging that seemed to have come from recesses deeper than he’d ever imagined…hidden little crevices of which even he hadn’t been aware. It roiled and gurgled weakly at first before spreading slowly out as ripples would when a pebble disturbed the black surface of long-calm waters.

/I’m imprisoned./

Swallowing again, feeling his cheeks warm up as he did, the young nobleman took one clumsy step after another, his eyes not once relinquishing their hold on the luminous, slumbering figure before him. He slowly sat himself on the side of the bed, gently taking the pale hand that dangled languorously over the edge and holding it between his own.

/I’ve wandered the ramparts and the hallways for a hundred years, seeking companionship and finding none./

The fine, graceful lines of the prone figure seared themselves firmly in the boy’s mind, branding it with a vision that even blindness would never erase. He raised the limp hand to his lips for a kiss, shuddering at the contact and the stirring in his gut that had now grown in intensity and urgency. His gaze once again fell on the cold, placid face and especially on the lightly parted lips that continued to beckon to him.

He fought…gallantly fought…against the influence of a vulnerable pout…but his mind seemed to have been detached forcibly from his body, and as though in a dream, where he was floating above the room and gazing down at the proceedings, he watched himself grasp the limp hand more tightly against himself as he reached out to gently stroke the white forehead, fingers lightly trailing down the fine slope of a nose as he moved his hand to rest it against the boy’s cheek.

What was happening to him?

/I’ve been abandoned./

He was suddenly being pulled forward and down, his eyes closing against the blinding glow of moonlit skin, his own mouth automatically parting in welcome to still lips.

What was happening to him?

And almost in immediate answer, a thought flashed briefly across his mind, and he froze.

The reward, he finally realized, his mind regaining its lucidity even if only for a mere second. This was his reward…his prize…the reason behind the thick briars that walled the castle in…the reason why courtiers now lay in ageless sleep, permanently fixed where they fell, sacrifices to this strange boy’s fate. Serge grinned against his slumbering lover’s mouth, parting it further as own own opened into a smile. Feeling the boy’s teeth lightly graze his lips, he released the limp hand and brought both of his against the other’s face, firmly cradling it between his palms as he deepened the kiss, intent on claiming his reward with tentative sweeps of his tongue inside the pliant warmth.

His virtue had held up against the briars, easily vanquishing them. He…and only he…earned this.

/I’m tired of being alone. I’ve been waiting for a hundred years for someone to pass through the thorny borders./

He shifted without releasing the other boy, climbing onto the bed and placing himself on top of the prone figure, pushing himself between lifeless knees and parting slender thighs without much ceremony. No, the stirring had grown quite insistent now, and he trembled at the prospects. There was very little opportunfor for him to ponder ceremony.

His mouth finally moved, trailing eager kisses across the sleeping boy’s cheeks, lips and tongue thorough in their exploration of every smooth inch of flesh. His fogged mind could barely take in the faint though heady scent of satin and roses and sleep that had now become the boy’s very essence.

So this was the reward set aside for heroes. Complete, uncompromising surrender as payment for the prisoner’s release. e she shivered at the thought, delighting in its dark lure. He was, after all, a young man of principle, yet he certainly wasn’t a fool. He understood well enough the deeper, largely feared side of human nature, and he also understood that while principle was certainly well and good, it could only serve a man for so long. It was simply a matter of time before carefully-wrought defenses would fall under influences much too great for a mere mortal to bear.

And all men, after all, were born weak. For the first time in his young life, he exulted at the thought.

He claimed the boy’s lips for another deep kiss before moving down the slender column of his throat, licking and nipping as he went.

/Will you help me out of this prison?/

“I will,” he murmured against the boy’s skin. “Show me how.”

His fingers shook as they fought against the lacings of the other boy’s shirt, tugging awkwardly until knots were unraveled, and the thin strip of ribbon was being pulled out of eyelets, exposing more skin to his view as the shirt front slipped open.

Serge lost no time in pulling the shirt open some more, partially sliding the silky material off the boy’s shoulders, and he was kissing the gentle dip at the base of the throat…the one that still faintly pulsed with life…and the soft rise of an adolescent pectoral…not quite developed but certainly hinting at a man’s firm musculature.

Silence filled the turret’s upper chamber, to be broken on sionsion by the quiet, helpless sighs of excitement and trepidation that escaped Serge’s throat as he lightly sucked on a newly exposed nipple, alternately kissing and rubbing his face against his insensible lover’s body, drunk out of his mind from the heated stirrings that now flooded his senses and against which he was much too weak to fight.

Though it wasn’t as if he really wished it.

/Wake me./

“Yes, yes…I will…”

Did flesh always feel…and taste…this goSomeSomething had taken over now, Serge realized. Something that ran deeper, something more primal that had long lain dormant…something that had just been liberated, and it stumbled about, exulting in its newfound freedom by taking and taking and taking…seeking desperately to drown itself in excesses that it had craved and had been denied for far too long.

Serge could feel the heat radiating from his own skin as his mouth wandered in vague patterns all over the sleeping boy’s torso, his tongue leaving a damp trail that made white flesh shimmer faintly in the moonlight. His eyes, dimmed with hunger, barely managed to take in the sight of a faint flush infusing the skin that he’d just touched, providing him with a visible reminder of his progress and most certainly undeniable proof that the sleeping boy was responding to his ministrations.

His own needs burnt him, and twice he had to pause, bowing and pressing his eyes tightly shut as he fought off the rapidly escalating heat that forced its way to his groin, his fingers curling desperately into brocade sheets, the sweat-dampened palms pasting the fabric against his skin while irregular breaths hissed through clenched teeth. Once the fire had subsided to a lingering and insistent though bearable discomfort, Serge would listen to the wild rush of blood that thundered in his ears as he counted down some more, determined as he was to regain control of the situation. No, he wasn’t about to let his body ruin his progress so far. What he needed was the same methodical brand of resistance that had served him well in conquering the briar hedge.

And so for several seconds he lay on the sleeping boy’s body, his ear pressed against skin now faintly tinged with rising warmth and a slowly growing awareness of tactile sensations. Serge, giddy with his own awakening, pressed gentle kisses on the other boy’s chest as he waited for his body to quiet down, soothing himself in the process.

/Open my eyes./

He moved up in time to see the boy’s mouth looking much more alive now, deeply flushed and swollen and most certainly difficult to resist. He smiled before bending his head for another kiss, deep and searching and insistent while his hands wandered impatiently. Tanned fingers raked through hair, pressed againsintlintly throbbing veins, flicked at stiffening nipples before stroking flanks and diving further down. He followed their lead, helpless against the force that pushed him onward as he gave the other boy one final kiss before sitting up on his heels, dazed and unable to fully comprehend what he was now doing.

Feeling disembodied, he simply watched himself lift each leg to pull off the soft velvet shoe that now hindered his progress, listening to the soft thumps as both were tossed unceremoniously to the floor. Reaching out, he grasped the band of the light blue hose that was his sleeping lover’s last defense and pulled it down, once again gently lifting each leg to liberate it completely, taking care to press a fervent kis the the side of each knee before he let go. It wasn’t long before the other boy lay just about naked before him, what fleeting sense of modesty there was barely sustained by the silk shirt that was spread wide open around his shoulders.

Serge stretched out over the still form and lost himself in sensation now, urging the other boy to wake up with every touch, every kiss, every small nip. The passivity was tantalizing…the unconscious invitation for dominance too overpowering to resist. The boy offered himself to the rescuer…partially unwilling, perhaps, being in the deep prisons of sleep, but his voice urged to be taken.

And who was Serge to deny him that?

/Open my eyes to the world. I want to see the world./

He sat up once more, flushed and overly heated and breaking out in sweat, now having completely forgotten about the injuries he’d sustained in the briar hedge. His eyes, dilated and unfocused, were fixed on the indece spr sprawled figure before him as he fumbled clumsily for his cloak, practically choking himself as he ripped it off his neck and shoulders and flung it across the room. Then he fought against the stubborn clasps of the belt that held his doublet securely together, tearing the offending accessory off him with a quiet curse before yanking the doublet open and ignoring the sound of popping buttons as he shed that off.

The heat in his groin had intensified, rising once more to a level that threatened to shatter his mind. He could still leave if he wished it.

If he wished it.

But the lifeless boy continued to beckon…pale, slender form, now sliy fly flushed from earlier explorations, lying vulnerable and exposed…limbs spread conveniently, planes and curves and hollows illuminated by an insistent moon. There was innocence there, of the kind that only sleep could bestow, but the invitation that was its other half…the allure that such an unconscious brand of innocence would effect…the allure that was further heightened by the temptation of opportunity…was always a formidable force.

Serge had to throw his head back, forcing his eyes on the shadowy ceiling as he pulled his hose down, freeing himself and shuddering from the sudden sting of the night air against overly sensitized flesh. Control…he should learn control. He didn’t even bother taking the rest of his clothes off.

/Awaken my senses./

“I’m here,” he gd. “d. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

He spat on his length and coated himself, his entire body now trembling uncontrollably from the weight of anticipation and terror as he moved, lifting the other boy’s legs and draping them over his shoulders to lift those hips for his intrusion.

He stared at the calm beauty beneath him as he shifted in preparation, momentarily bending down to plant another kiss on those proffered lips be he he finally moved.

A small guttural cry escaped him as he pushed in, the sudden shock of pain of such a resistance catching him off-guard for a few seconds. The other boy was impossibly tight, and his penis burnt from the slsteasteady forcing to which he subjected both of them. He clung desperately to the extravagant covers beneath the body he was now…and his melting brain had argued against this word…defiling with such blind recklessness.

He’d earned this, his tattered mind insisted. He’d conquered, and he’d liberated. This was his due, and it wasn’t as if the other boy didn’t wish it. He came to claim what was his. It was only fair.

He pushed…and pushed…and pushed till he couldn’t push any further. His insensible lover lay jackknifed under him, and he watched eagerly for signs of life other than the deepening flush that was slowly spreading throughout the slender…once virginal…body. It was a bid as well to keep his mind from centering on the pain and the overpowering discomfort of initial contact as he waited for his body to harden itself against the effects.

/Make me feel once again./

He was ing ing more than one collection of tight, raw nerves, sensitized almost to a maddening point, the confusing swirl of pain and pleasure winding firmly around them as he moved inside the other boy, bowing his head and listening to himself breathe raggedly between tightly clenched teeth.

“Feel me,” he hissed, his thrusts falling into a more even rhythm. “Wake up and feel me.”

Sweat beaded across his forehead, and one by one they trickled down, some following the gentle slop his his nose, some traversing the tensed muscles of his cheeks, some trailing along the soft angle of his jaw line.

This was his reward…his prize. The blessed witch who’d fought against beauty and innocence had given him much more than he could ever hope for. And perhaps that wasn’t what she’d initially set out to do. What jealousy, what spite thad had goaded her on to throwing this golden-haired boy into a deep, hopeless sleep and those around him to succumb to the dictates of time in spite of their earlier slumber seemed to have backfired. No, she mustn’t have anticipated the arrival of a nobleman…especially after all those who were now entombed in her thorny walls…who was strong enough to overcome her malice…though with what it was he’d managed to conquer the castle, Serge had yet to discover.

Helpless gasps and breathless whimpers now filled the turret’s upper room, the sound of skin slapping against skin heightening the indecency of the moment.

/Wake me!/

Serge bent down to claim another hungry kiss from his lover, whispering against the warm lips, “Feel me, damn you!”

And almost in answer, he felt the body beneath him shudder, a half-choking sound bursting forth from the mouth on which he’d been lavishing so much attention. His heart gave a small leap of triumph when the boy’s head slowly moved, the smooth brows crinkling a little as he was lured, painfully, from the depths of a century-old slumber
Se
Serge paused, breathing hard and watching the droplets of sweat pool on the pale body that he’d now inexorably claimed for his own. The other boy let a qua quiet moan before his eyes fluttered open, blinking sleepily as they fixed themselves on the figure hovering above him. His lover was startled by the sight of bright green eyes, momentarily unfocused and bewildered in their stare.

Serge could barely keep a smile from breaking out as he gazed wonderingly at the vision below him. “I’ve come for you,” he whispered. “You’re no longer trapped here.”

The other boy merely regarded him in confused silence at first before Serge felt a sudden burst of agonizing pleasure tear through his system, and he collapsed against the other boy, crying out as he was forced to resume his deep exploration, his thrusting now rapid and almost violent as his body fought off the rising tide. But it was too late, and he buried himself fiercely and deeply inside his now awakened lover, his arms tightening around the body beneath him as he spent himself in the pliant warmth, sweat practically pouring out in countless rivulets and drenching the other with their salty moisture.

Serge was barely even aware of the other boy uttering a small cry while he climaxed in him…could barely feel the fists tightening against his chest as the latter tried to push him away. He was much too far gone to do much about it, and it was all he could do to lie on top of him, fighting to catch a breath as his body recovered from the mind-numbing experience.

He listened to the sound of ragged breathing and small gasps that mingled in the night air before he pulled out, exhausted beyond words but willing to give his partner just as much pleasure. beg begun to move for that purpose when the other boy spoke.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse from a hundred years of disuse.

Serge sighed and swallowed, offering him a weak grin as he lightly brushed gold hair away from his eyes, exposing the vibrant shade of green to closer scrutiny. “I was called,” he replied. “I was meant to come here
“
“Why?”

“For you.”

“What’s the year?”

Serge told him, kissing him lightly when he did and feeling a gentle warmth course through him.

The other boy shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said bitterly, and Serge stared at him in some confusion, the fond smile frozen on his lips. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Why not? I heard your voice call for me.”

“You heard nothing of the kind. No one was talking to you but your own delusions.”

Serge’s smile remained, however. Surely, this boy was simply disoriented and frightened, unsure of what he’d do now that he was back in the land of the living. But that shouldn’t be much trouble, he thought. He was there, after all. He’d help his lover back to his feet, and he was willing to do what he could to ensure that he’d survive.

“I’ve no delusions.”

The other boy looked pale and drawn now, distress darkening his features. “I belong to my world, not yours. I was never meant to live in your world. Nothing you can do will save me.”

And with that, the boy began to melt away…literally. Green eyes deflated and sank into their sockets, dragging smooth eyelids down with them until nothing but two hollow circles stared back at Serge. Lightly flushed cheeks shriveled into a sickly yellow hide that seemed to melt against the skull that held them up. Full, shapely lips parted as they disappeared into discolored teeth. Goair air dulled into a brittle mass that fell in small clumps on the now rotting pillows.

Like Eurydice’s return to the underworld, the boy departed, leaving nothing more than faint echoes of his resignation to his fate, words that stung his once-lover, the realization of the truth of his words effectively sending Serge’s hopes crashing down around him.

All around, time had finally caught up, throwing everything into their real state. Even the bed began to groan under the weight of the only living being in the room, and Serge was staring down at a century-old corpse.

**********

Serge’s eyes flew wide open as he let out a choked cry, clamping a hand on his mouth to stifle the sound. For a moment, his world had darkened, and he could see nothing but a black void. But it cleared soon enough, and he was staring at a familiar ceiling. His mind dragged itself out of sleep and shook off the confusion that had firmly shrouded it, his eyes straying to his writing-desk beyond the foot of his bed.

“A dream,” he whispered once his heart had slowed down. “It was only a dream.”

A sudden stab of pain on his cheek woke him further, and he winced, gently running a hand against the bandage that Carl had carefully placed there earlier. Images suddenly flooded his mind…recollections of the most recent past, which included rolling around on the cobblestones with Kurt in the middle of Arles, fists flying as he violently defended Gilbert’s honor…

Serge blinked.

Gilbert.

He turned and found his roommate asleep, tucked comfortably under his blankets, looking as innocent and as untainted as one could possibly be. His heart stopped at the memory of what happened after Arles…of Gilbert taunting him as he returned from his adventure with Max (of which nature Serge dared not guess)…of the bright-eyed boy forcing a kiss from him, the two of them sliding slowly down to the floor as Serge vainly grabbed on to the curtains for protection…of Gilbert laughing his triumph when Serge suddenly realized that he’d rolled himself on top of his roommate, dominating the exchange now and claiming kiss after demanding kiss from the complacent boy.

Serge felt the sting of tears as he was suddenly assailed by voices in his head, accusing and condemning him for being such an immoral, perverted creature…for reciprocating Gilbert’s kiss and feeling pleasure in what he did.

He quickly clasped his hands on his chest and pinched his eyes shut as he whispered a quiet prayer of forgiveness, promising the the saints that he’d go to confession at the first opportunity, calling on them to protect him from himself…from his humiliating shortcomings.

He was a good boy. He was principled. But he was caught in a moment of weakness when he kissed Gilbert, and he swore that it wouldn’t happen again. He’d do nothing to bring shame to his dear parents’ memory.

No, he’d sooner die than cause them…their souls…any degree of pain.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” he whispered, running a sleeve against his eyes. “I’ll do better. I know I can.”

Lightly sniffling, he stole one final glance in Gilbert’s direction and saw that the tree outside their window had cast its shadow on the sleeping boy so that its thick, gnarled, and balding branches looked like a blanket of briars that cocooned him. And Serge was certain that if he were to reach out to his roommate, he’d be caught in the brambles, his struggles further imprisoning him within the twisting tapestry of branches and thorns, his life sucked out with the eventual passing of time, the roses easing the sting of death with their ghastly fragrance and soft kisses.

(end)