Chapter Text
The morning was woefully, dreadfully quiet as the frost-frozen fingertips of sunlight came slithering across the ground of Scarlet Estate. It was enough to rouse you, barely, but what kept you awake was the striking lack of sound echoing over your family's home. No distant peals of church bells clanging and knocking rusty notes into the pre-dawn. No choirs of doves to mourn the nights end. Neither the nestling of foraging possum come home from the night in your drawer nor the cranky spattering of complaints from the crepuscular French feline came wafting through the dusty air. Not even the maggots and arthropods and other tiny grotesque insects that had wormed their way into the woodrot of the estate to hide from winter's encroaching cold came to greet the morning with you.
[Mystical] The exception to this fine and lone rule being Tabitha, whose presence had long escaped the grounds to distract herself with work.
If only you were so lucky.
Your ears strained to hear something. Anything. You were starting to gaslight yourself into thinking you'd gone deaf in the night, which was a ridiculous notion in and of itself. You rolled over to grab your phone, listening to the plastic scrape against the wood and shifting movement of the fabric. Or was it a memory of a sound you knew so well? You remembered the sound of your breathing. Your pulse. Trying to find the birds or bees or beloveds. But there was nothing.
The time read.. 6:59:16, :17, :18; you unlocked your screen, pretending to ignore the numbers you knew so well. One new text from Tabitha, several from Stella. You ignored them both for now, pulling up your music and pressing play on whatever you had recently playing. But you knew the lyrics so well, the tune. A memory of an echo of a sound. You sat your phone to rest upon your chest, hoping the vibrations of the volume turned all the way up would finally rattle your heart out of this fatigue of quiet. Hands went over your ears, clutching and shuddering in - what, agony? Despair? You were torturing yourself for no reason, laying here, listless and weary. It was time to wake up, dreamer.
The familiar sounds of sliding out of bed and your bare feet padding down the hallway, phone gripped solidly in one hand, the other sliding against the peeling wallpaper, were of minimal comfort to you. You knew, logically, you could not be deaf.
[Talk to Animals] You can't even hear the distant cries of the diseased. Have they, too, stopped talking to you?
Like the rest of this accursed world?
Bathroom. Shower. Music loud. Yes, yes, that would make you feel better. Somehow. You set your phone atop the mirror cabinet, wishing you'd brought your Bluetooth speakers with you. Who knows how much help they, or this morning ritual of cleansing your previous days sins off, would be.
The squeak of the faucet turning. Rumble and pops of pipes as water shook through them, sputtering out the showerhead. You let it run a few moments, contemplative. How much of all of this is just a memory? Not just the sounds, but the sights, the feels. Where your body is in position to itself, to the Earth, to others. You had read somewhere, once, how everything you experience is delayed because of different properties - how long it took to get to you, the time your brain needed to process it. It was fractions of microseconds for most things, but the stars were memories of forever ago. And here, now, today, this morning, felt like wading through cold jelly. You pulled the curtain aside, stepping into the water, and its warmth and pressure flooded you with a rejuvenated spirit.
What a strange existential problem to have at almost seven in the morning! You washed sleep from your eyes, taking your time with the steaming stream, the urge to start humming along to your music growing. Shampoo. Rinse. The haunting tune of a more morose piece came wafting through, making you feel a bit somber again. Conditioner. Let sit. You stared at the tub basin, swirls of color from the paints, blood, and viscera of last night washing down the drain. You examined under your fingernails. Dirt. Oils. Turpentine. You began to lather it all away, face falling with a twinge of grief overcoming you.
Yes, everyone was alive, in the end, but Reese would never trust you again. Dr. Kelly would regret ever letting you into her life, regret that you even came back to the Holler. But you couldn't have known. Wayne said so himself.
"It wasn't your responsibility. It was never your responsibility. Fate had been thrust upon you."
You inhaled deeply, held, then exhaled, rinsing the remaining suds off your backside. Of course your mind would wander to that special someone. That pallid creature of the night. Your mouth twisted. No, that wasn't quite right, because you had seen him in the day, as well. Poorly hidden among the brush, a looming figure in the background. Watching from the shadows, slipping in and out all your life through gateways unknown.
[Mystical] Not unknown. Unseen. You know what he is.
An Angel.
[Mystical] Don't be afraid, dreamer.
As if anything about Wayne could possibly scare you. You channeled the spirit of Charles Shaw Jr. You could hear the words of a Ditchling-infected animal. You watched your friend's skin bubble and stretch under forces of the Devil and transform into a monster to attempt matricide. Whatever Wayne was, he wasn't scary.
Yet your inner voice danced in turn with Wayne's. Telling you not to be afraid. That he was there for you. That he will aalways be watching. Every prayer, every question, every desire you held would be answered, in due time. The thought left you as you stepped back into the water to rinse out your hair, a love song now settling in the haze. It calmed your heart, as you were always a bit of a sucker for those, having never really found love in life, and knowing your soulmate may be watching you just beyond those curtains.
He'd been calling for you his entire life. And so, your mouth moved of its own volition, the rumble of lyrics thrumming in your diaphragm. Sing from your stomach, your mom always told you.Project. Reach the person furthest from you.
Oh, but the whole forest could hear you now, dreamer. Even if you could not hear them, not over your belly-bursts of songs to the Earth and Heaven above it. You sang for him, to him. Your Angel. A prayer from the tired-eyed and world-weary to the love eternal. The water felt more than healing, it felt... electric, each drop acupuncturing your skin with energy. You got, perhaps to your outside observer, too into it, but it worked, didn't it? Replacing the name of the lover in the song with his, the flavor of the name alone so sweet on your tongue. It was the song of sunlight; it sat on your lips.
His odor, though somewhat dampened by the scent of your body wash, came seeping in, penetrating through the mist. Petrichor. Ozone. Morels in the woods. And the unmistakable, nose-twitching distinct bouquet of death and decomposition. To many, it was stomach-churning. You'd grown used to it, disgust turning to neutrality to a strange enjoyment. Something you'd looked forward to smelling, as it always indicated he was nearby.
Wayne hummed in amusement, leaning far too casually against the wall right where you could barely see his right side. He cast no shadow against the wall tile, the steam and bright fluorescent of the bathroom light illuminating his form in that of a mock halo.
You were very much finished with rinsing your hair, but the water felt just too nice. The song was over, but you weren't done. You could serenade him with gibberish till it ran cold and he'd stand there and listen, if not maybe chastise you for wasting time. Fate and Heaven landed hand-in-hand and you felt elated, your earlier fears melting away as another love song carrying its notes to you.
This one, a touch melancholic, of distances, of always knowing, of every lifetime. The next, more sensual. How loud you love him. The heat not just only in the water, but gestating in your loins, giving you cause to turn about-face and slide backwards to have your backside just barely within reach of Wayne, your hands and front hidden by the disheveled shower curtain. Only you and God knew what you were doing with your fingers.
[Mystical & Talk to Animals] He can sense your lust.
His restraint is that of a well-trained endurance predator. The slow death.
The blank, wet drip.
He yearns to watch you bare yourself to him so he can consume you.
His eyes that can stare into your glowing red soul.
You braced yourself with one hand against the wall, leveraging your groin to hit the water, purposefully moaning his name as you plunged a water-lubed finger inside yourself. One was not really a lot, or even remotely enough, but you made a show of it anyway. A hidden one, at that.
The cold, cursed tips of his fingers pressed into your back, eliciting a squeal from you and sending a shock of icy-hot chill through you, even against the boiling temperature of the water. A cry that could have, with how worked up you were, been easily mistaken for one of pleasure, the way you choked it out.
"Quite the lovely voice you have there." His voice saying words you'd never heard from him completely shut the sluices of your deafened dysphoric daydream. You dropped your voice an octave, slathering it in sultry desire.
"You're just saying that because you like me."
"I do." Getting emotion out of Wayne was a bit like pulling teeth, but you could tell there was something there in that simple two-word utterance. It was faint, but it was there.
[Mystical] That intense need, grown over the eons.
The low, barely audible growl came not from the ancient pipes straining at your excessive use of water beneath the floorboards. Dancing, delicate fingertips drew shapes along your bony spine and through strands of wet hair matted to your skin, acting a conduit for his teasing touches to travel to all the right places. How satisfying a simple touch could be. Maybe it was imaginary - a memory - but you could feel the ghosting of those very same digits palming your groin, and you came in a choir song of sensation. After a brief moment of basking in it, you disengaged from the wall, from the water, from yourself, taking in a deep breath of the saccharine-soaked air.
"Are you feeling better now?" You nodded, a touch breathless. "Good. You ought to finish up."
You reached to turn the faucet off, a touch shaky, the water giving one final clang against its shackle of iron pipes before the iconic sound of draining. "Would you be so kind as to pass me a towel, o ceaseless watcher?" He did so wordlessly. First, hair, wrung out and toweled off, it'd take forever to dry no matter what you tried. Then onto the rest. “Oh. Uh. Thank you,” the forgotten gratitude finally slipped out.
He’d forgive you even if you forgot entirely.
You dried off best you could, then without much ado, you draped the towel over top of the curtain rod and stepped out, trying your best not to allow the blush to show its way onto your face. It’d show everywhere else, though. If he cared to ask why you felt embarrassed, you could blame it on the heat of the water, not that he would. A quick glance around the bathroom reminded you that you hadn’t bothered to bring clothes with you, because…
You forgot. Too occupied with the morning’s existential dread chewing on you like a happiness-munching hobgoblin. Those over-imposing thoughts were all but banished at the sight of Wayne staring you down, his pose as casual as he could possibly pretend it to be. His head did a little nod, not to greet you, but to look you over.. A thousand words came flying into your head, stammering and sheepish, tripping and tumbling over one another as all you could really do is give a wry little half-grin and eek out:
"I'll sing for you anytime!" Your voice audibly cracked between 'any' and 'time'. The grin faded from your face and you slowly lowered your head, raised your palms, and made the two meet with a groan. Really? That was the best you could do?
"I think I would like that. But you had other things to do today.” He rose to stand straight and gestured at the door. “You are admittedly distracting as you are, and you should get dressed.”
"Aw, phooey,” you kicked playfully at the floor. He wasn’t wrong. “Well... mind escorting me back? I can draw the curtains so you can ensure I get dressed in a timely and safe manner.” His head tilted slightly to one side, because he knew what you were playing at.
“Of course.” But he wouldn’t say that he did. Not this time. You held a dainty hand up in question. Of course, now that you were looking, now that you could see him, he wouldn’t deign to give you the pleasure of holding your hand. He shook his head, no, so you pouted and turned your head, leaving your hand hovering there a moment. Because you knew.
You knew as soon as you averted your gaze, he'd take your hand in his. And he did, touching it to the thin canvas of veil in imitation of a gentleman's kiss. His palm was rough and pocketed by weeks worth of decay, though moist and softened from the surrounding imitation of a sauna. You didn't dare turn back to check and see if it was real: your own personal Eurydice. You just had to trust that you were not dreaming this, this potentially false memory implanted by your hopeful thinking. And then his hand slipped away from yours, and you could breathe easy again. After grabbing your phone and turning the music off, an eerie, stifling silence filling the air, you made your way back to the guest room. Though you still didn't look back at him, you knew Wayne was but steps behind you, ducking between sunbeams that were now cursing the halls of the estate in full.
Soon as you entered the room, you jogged to pull close the curtains, sure that on any other day, you'd probably have found a splinter between your toes at the activity. "Should be good," you called back to him, the room now doused in a soft darkness. Not enough to blind, plenty to get around by, and more than enough for the sun-sensitive man to step into its comforting embrace. He didn't find excuse to close the door behind himself. There was no one else in the estate, save for all the ghosts. You spun to face him, a stupid sigh and dreamy smile taking over your face.
"As much as I enjoy seeing you in the buff, you're wasting time." There it was. The no-nonsense, straight to business, and playing down the desires he knew you held beating in your chest Wayne. You could admire that in a person, but the Devil on your shoulder grinned with pointed teeth, whispering in your ear to distract and corrupt that being before you. Little did you know how he'd corrupt you, instead. Your shy smile twisted and snaked up into your cheeks to that of your own fang-bared mischievous grin.
"Wellllll, y'seee... Wayne... I was kind of hoping we could waste just a little bit more time." Your knees knocked together in a shy, coy manner, your hair not being the only thing still wet. The low, raspy cough you recognized as his laugh came from deep within the barrel of his chest, giving you the courage to step towards the bed, excited feet fluttering en pointe as you took a dive into the arms of the queen.
"You're incorrigible." His tone indicated teasing.
"Guilty as charged." You flipped from your stomach to your back trying to tilt your head back towards him. "Listen, I'm just as curious about the rest of the estate as I'm sure you are. But it's not even 8 o'clock!"
"Getting close."
"Oh, already? I thought you were saving that for later," your seductive tone finding its way out of you again, bored fingers running down your sternum, a sight line for him to stare down.
"What do you-" He cut himself off with a wheeze of laughter. "Be careful what you wish for, dreamer," Wayne shook his head, not in denial of your advances, but almost in disbelief. "What of your other obligations today?"
"Didn't make any," you shrugged plainly. He was searching for an excuse, but wasn't going to find one. "If people want to see me today, they damn well better come to me this time around. I'm not here to play hide-and-seek with a bunch of so-called adults dicking me around to do their supernatural laundry." Your words held a bitter tone, brows furrowed at your frustration of the denizens of the Holler.
[Mystical] No, you're not. But it's a lot more than that, and you know you've had no choice in the matters.
Not that Wayne needs to hear that. He knows it as well as you do. And there's one other thing he knows-
[Talk to Animals] - how thoroughly, desperately breedable you are, or make yourself out to be.
Winter is coming soon, now. Go on.
Build that nest.
You shook your head with a sigh, banishing these minor annoyances of thought, turning to beckon Wayne over in a tone now hushed. "I need you, Wayne..." Lyrics repeated from the song of admission last night. How he'd declined you. You felt so unworthy, and hadn't dared to gaze upon his eminence.
"I know I've already won your heart. The bond we could share, dreamer..." He gazed up towards the milky moon in calm contemplation. "It would be deeper than any bond you could form with anyone else."
"I feel the same." You could feel it twisting in your gut. You couldn't help it, how you tried to hold his hand, to feel that bond strengthen, to touch and to know, but your hand met empty air, its destination having been swept deftly aside.
"A thoughtful gesture, but you don't want to do that. I wouldn't wish to frighten you. But I promise, there will be a time and place." Your heart jumped into your throat, face flushing a deep crimson. You were afraid you'd misread the situation, but a louder, more firm voice told you that you'd nothing to fear. He acknowledged you, just declined this one instance. Wayne continued: "Don't feel embarrassed. It's natural for you to want to explore your feelings." He stepped closer, closing most of the distance between you. "It isn't as though I don't wish to reciprocate. Just be patient."
You had nothing to doubt as he now stood over you, hovering at the edge of the bed, his eyes meeting yours. The veil clung lightly to his face, not dangling off in a fashion that you were able to stare your Angel in the face. He wavered, slightly, in his stance, keeping something at bay. The chains are faltering, the lock coming undone. You had to wait very little time, as impatientness ran strong between you both.
"Show me."
"Excuse me?" You scoffed, cheeks raised in a smirk at his audacity.
“Under normal circumstances, I would make you wait to even hear that much,” he mused in a dark tone. “You do have ears, don’t you? You haven’t gone deaf in the last ninety seconds?” Your smirk quickly faded, color draining a bit from your face. You shook your head at him. That troubling fear from this morning rang once again through your mind. Though, outside him, the world felt muted, from color to sound indeed. “Then you heard me just fine. Show me. Show how much it is you need me. Perhaps…”
Wayne swooped down, face mere inches above yours, his eyes bright and intense and odor moreso. It choked you, making your eyes and head swim in the cloying scent of rot.
“Perhaps I could bestow upon you the pleasure you seek.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, ragged and hot, your chin tilting up in a pathetic attempt to kiss him, to taste him on your tongue. He swiftly stood, his scent settling upon you like a blanket of spores. You’d stink of him for all time, and no amount of washing would cleanse you of the sins you are about to commit. His chastising came echoing through the room:
“We don’t bite the hand that feeds, do we?” Annoyance rose through you, despite how turned on you had become.
“What, do you think of me as some kind of dog?” You sat up, adjusting to sit less perpendicular and more center of the bed, head and feet where they should be.
“A bitch in heat, more like.” You had never heard him swear before, much less in a degrading manner towards you. And it was… incredibly hot. Your shocked expression and raised eyebrow made the pacing Angel pause to gaze upon you. He cocked his head to the side. "Like that, do we?"
You couldn't really think of much to say; just a simple nod as your knees fell to the wayside, displaying your heated sex in full. Simply thinking on him had left you hot and heavy in these last few nights, but now you were absolutely sopping wet after his words had hit you. He began to pace at the foot of the bed, keeping his eyes glowering down upon you, the slightest of nods of approval at your showcase. You couldn't help but give him what you both wanted. You bit down on your bottom lip and held one leg open just at the nook of your knee, trailing your other hand down along the inside of your thigh, allowing goosebumps to form.
"Hm." He sounded disappointed in that near silent grunt. So you continued, teasing a single finger around yourself, stiffened and moist, red and throbbing. He clearly needed more, stopping to grip the footboard and stare. You. Down. The silence that stuck to your skin made you switch from confidence to unease, his domineering force seeping into the air itself. Either the world was truly darkening, or all you could focus on were those two, pale yellow dots, spotlights that doused you in their sight, naked upon the downy stage. You felt wholly taken, compelled to palm greedily at your groin. Your breath grew labored, mouth salivating, eyes unable to blink or even move from looking into his.
Yes... compelled. Not that you were unwilling, by any means, to show him. Wayne watched in a dead silence, his hands gripping that footboard. He does not need to watch. He does not need to ask. He's known you your entire life, in some ways, better than you knew yourself.
"Very good," he finally spoke, voice rough yet reedy. It sent a shiver through you. "Now. Tell me."
You knew better than to sass at him. Or, rather, you couldn't question him with your usual snark. He held powers beyond what you could ever possibly know. The Angel Compels, and you were but its meek and obedient servant.
[Mystical] The acts of flesh are obvious...
You felt the breathless words spilling out, words that were far too sober for your somewhat drowsy, fear-addled brain to had come up with on a surface level. They came from somewhere deep below. "My hand's just an imitation of what I want to feel from you.." You felt lightheaded, the room hazy and your body buzzing. How could you form such comprehensive words in this state? You were not really 'you' in the traditional sense, instead some deeper, animalistic portion of you taking over. 'You' were lost, succumbing to the lurid heat of sensational lust, droning on your testaments to the sins of carnality.
"What do you want to feel?"
"Y-your hands... tongue.. your cock, in me, on me.. hhah, ah, setting my nerves on fire - ah-!" Your head flung back, fingers grazing and pressing into a particularly sensitive spot. You swore, shuddering, a true spot of 'you' peeking through the curtains before continuing on in the zealous words of a fanatic half-fraught with moans and sighs. Digits pressed inside, outside, all over you. "Here! Here, fuck, Wayne, please, I want-!"
"What. Do you want. To feel?"
His command begs to be followed. Wayne's hands were white-knuckled, gripping the footboard with such force it began to splinter. Spreading from those hands was a pale golden-yellow network of webbing, similar to mycelium networks, creeping its way over the worn facade.
[Talk to Animals] The predator's hunger is taking over.
There is an unmistakable stink in the air of pheromones.
A once silent forest now erupts with noise beyond the walls, a chorus of need singing at your steps.
Your eyes squeezed together tight, ears pounding from the sudden cacophony. The sensory overload was almost too much. But he could not hear them the way you could. He could only hear you - your heartbeat, begging to shatter through the weak cage of flesh and bone, your feeble and desperate pleas for him, the hitched breath and fabric folding beneath your form.
"I want to feel you inside me!" Your pained cry came spitting out of its own volition. Words with their own autonomy. Your body, well, he'd established by now without even saying as much. That was his now, wasn't it? Your movement, your speech, seemed to be evolving from his doing. They were your deepest, truest feelings, but you felt the need to say it for yourself without being compelled to. At the same time, it was enjoyable, being taken like this, him channeling those dark desires up and out. Those bonds between you were indeed unbreakable and humming with electric, wanton lust. You felt yourself tugging to gain some slack, and finally broke to speak alone.
"Wayne, Wayne, please - let me say it for myself -" Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, and his grasp on you eased. You felt your lungs fill with cool air as you searched for the words. "I do want to feel all of that..." Your breath caught against itself, like sandpaper in your throat, the pain of being relinquished from his untouching vice and sitting in the precipice of your own coming staggering in you.
The weight of the bed shifted as your Angel came crawling towards his meal. You watched as he shed his jacket -
"Right here, this time," you whispered, passing fingers over a hungry hole,
- his shirt, soon to follow, for you to finally lay eyes upon -
"and I-I want you to kiss me when you're filling me," said finger pressed slightly inside, eliciting a shaky sigh of a moan.
- bare chest, with bulging pecks below gaunt and graying collarbones. Blackened by bruises and matted by blood, marred by scars. The skin of his belly -
They dove in further as you watched him undress for you. "God," you hissed, "I want you to-"
"Not God," came the amused response.
- sagged slightly, a distant memory of a once full and laughing beer gut. Three jagged cashes from his battle last night cut into it, a glimpse of -
You hiccuped a giggle, giddy at his wit, simultaneously trying to swallow your fear and make more of a mess of yourself. "Fine then, not God. I just - fuck me silly, touch me, with-" you exhaled hard, your finger plunging in and out, "-with all you've got."
- the layers, curdled and bloody, seeping out. Wayne wasted no more time, making quick work of -
You bit your lip, pulling your finger out so you could sit up and reach towards him -
- the fly of moisture-wicked denim, but you were allotted no time longer to watch, when both your attention and hands were pulled away from you. It had been a lifetime of waiting. Several times over. He could not, no, would not wait any longer.
Being built solidly in life gave him the advantage in death, with the added speed only the supernatural could be granted. He'd been blessed, in this afterlife, with touch so Holy it gripped you in terrifying tremors. Powerful hands wrapped easily around your wrist, and here, you could more easily see, just below the thinnest areas of translucent skin, that same yellow of assumed fungus pulsating beneath the surface. He hovered over you, pinning you beneath his heavy, odorous mass. He'd seen enough, and hated wasting time when there was more to do; you'd get your exploration of his body in time. Now was the time for action. The first drop of rain before the knock of thunderous storms.
The veil clung to his head still. The faintest bit of sun bled in from the window, through your own hazy vision, seeping into the cloth and giving him an appropriately striking, scarlet halo. Now that his aroma was no longer held back by mere cloth, you felt your head swimming from that bouquet of death. So sickly sweet and cloyingly thick you could choke on it. But beneath that, the musky scent of sweat, perfumed with angry, pheromonal desire.
[Talk to Animals] A weaker animal would tremble and run from this threat.
But you are no weaker animal, are you?
Even if you did run, you'd have nowhere to go.
He'd hunt you to the ends of the Earth.
"You've caused me quite a lot of trouble this week, dreamer." His forehead pressed to yours, the stink of decay making your eyes water. "And you deign to ask me for a kiss?" You made a small, affirmative noise. Your mouth felt so dry, suddenly, unable to make words form; thankfully that was not the case for anything below the waist. "Pathetic begging."
vHe was pressing against you in every way. Every sensation, all at once. The firmness of an erect member straining, twitching, taut. Curiosity crossed your mind as to how he was able to do that, but that short, passing thought left your mind, now slowly falling back to your copilot mechanisms. Your wrists were burning, a lightless flame spreading down your forearms in jagged, spiraling Lichtenberg figures. Similar feelings were erupting on your thighs and at your entrance, against your sex as the two met, so hungrily, painstakingly patient for the final act. Wherever his bare skin touched yours, warmth bloomed.
Yet, it was also bone-chilling. You twitched and spasmed, leaking in eager anticipation, trying and failing to grind yourself against him. Elation, furor sparking in spats between firing neurons, your hips moving on their own. He had to do hardly a thing to elicit your songs, quivering con affeto. Your mind felt hazy, but you were still fully aware and quite enthusiastic of what was happening. Corruption from the Light.
Wayne chuckled low under his lack of breath at your mewling, gyrating body. You whined a small 'please'; it was far too late for pride.
It was unique, something to be reckoned with, the way he tore the veil from his face to come crashing onto your lips. There was no effort to be made as the circuit came complete, the way he could slip inside you and taking his cock so very nicely. It sent sparks through you, tip to tail. The cold, dry maw quickly lapped up your drool, hitched wails and sobs being swallowed down as he anchored himself deep inside you.
You felt like you were watching yourself from the outside. Your usual steadfast, stoic, and snarky self was now a mere ghost being ravaged inside and out. The consummation taking place, his frenzy in a growing, hungered snarl, mouth and hips tearing and mashing against yours. Plowing ever deeper, into more sensitive spots, tingling and aching. It was taking over.
The pale yellow growing to a blinding, white-hot, angry heat, spilling forth over him, over you. You couldn't, wouldn't, fight back against the forces of Fate. Your Angel has come to touch you and give you that which you've sought your entire life - and you were finally whole now. Apotheosis post mortem. You kissed back best you could, hushed moans of his names in sing-song praises, Wayne silencing you in intense, arrhythmic thrusts.
The cool warmth grew inside you, as well. You had been humbled by this short encounter, your body buckling as you came, again, again, again, all over him, all over yourself. Each time he would pull back he'd plunge back in, an endless onslaught of sinful pleasure. Your knees shook, praying for solid ground next time around, but you easily submitted to this.
"...Mine.." He murmured against your lips, trailing nibbles and kisses into the nook of your neck, finding perch to bite down. You yelped: he most certainly drew blood. Flashes of light popping in your eyes, a fire boiling you inside and out.
Wayne could no longer do with just holding you down. He mapped his hands down your ribcage, gasping and desperate for breath where you could find hardly any. Only his scent. Your own arms swung around your shoulder, embracing him as he gave you more of his cock, bouncing you atop it. Teeth grazed up, dripping wet with hot bloody sacrifice.
"You... are mine.." Though he did not have breath to say it with, you felt it still, the words curling nicely around the back of your ear, tiptoeing to the erogenous, sensitive skin below. "You will have no other, just as I..." He thrust again, with more purpose, emphasizing his point, "...I will only have you."
"Wayne," you exhaled, feeling yourself breaking, "yes. Please, please, please!" You begged, you pleaded, you sang, as you would for him always, any time.
"Tell me, dreamer."
The low pitch. The hands on your hips. The taste of your own blood on your lips as he kissed you once again to inhale your whimpering. "Come in me..." A peck. "Please...?" Another. More. You kept asking, between each one, please, as if it were the only word you knew anymore. Wayne's pace changed, more wild, more painful, more pleasuring, the choir of ecstasy building. He said something more - you couldn't understand what, some form of him affirming his possession on you, or something. Language was a false memory, and all fell silent as your Angel came with a surge, the sensationally strange hot-and-cold fluids filling you with twitching orgasm. The quiet light blossoming and burning you from the inside. The divine host, and the ghost, entwined. And the fear of silences compounding and echoing and shimmering.
[Talk to Animals] They are out there.
They heard it all.
You've joined their ilk, an animal, bred in heat.
There was only your breath. Your heartbeat. The world on mute. He sat inside you, the last few drops draining inside you, till he lessened his bruising grip at your hips. Wayne delicately raked his nails up your sides, around the back of your shoulders, gently prying your arms away from him. The shuffle of fabric, the flip of a switch. You didn't want to be away from him, not yet, but you would have no say in the matter.
[Mystical] You never did.
Your eyes had shut on their own,
deep inhales of trying to hold the feeling inside you for as long as possible as Wayne parted himself from you, come and other residue leaking out of you onto the sheets. You’ve gone and made a mess. But it was worth it, for the shortest, truest embrace of Heaven you were sure anyone had ever had the pleasure of knowing. When you opened your eyes again, you were staring at the moth-bitten canopy of the bed, and the world started to fade back in like a stereo slowly having its volume turned on.
You looked over yourself. Bruised. Blood pooling in your collarbone and dribbling down your front. A familiar, slightly damp towel got pressed to the spot by Wayne’s hand, which, shortly above it, you could see he’d already redressed himself. All good things must come to an end. You took it from him and weakly rose to your feet, half wondering if you should shower again. Maybe later, after you explored the rest of the estate. Your legs wobbled, that tingling fire still a slow burn on your thighs. Your wrists, too, though those shackles were fading, as soon would the pain below. It bubbled down low, though, feeling his… seed, or whatever it was, sit inside you.
The world was wide awake, but you wanted to go back to the dream.
A gentle hand guided you at the small of your back. Now that he knew, he would take every opportunity to be at your side, to touch you, however he could. You dressed, greeting Dustin and Mom, apologizing for the smell, and took a good long look at yourself in the front-facing camera of your phone. He… did a number on you. Branded by the Angel. The time… 9:59:16, :17, :18…
[Mystical] Psalms.
You’d sung of his steadfast love in the morning. Wayne, the fortress and refuge in your days of distress. It was too literal, but that came as a relief compared to the days of cryptic words and visions. Your hair would look... Horrible, but it was fine. Wayne waited for you, just outside the room.
"Are you ready to go? You've got quite a lot to discover."
"Hm." You hummed, tapping a foot with a small, soft smile. "I've already discovered so much. What's a whole lot more?"
Beneath that veil lay a thin smile, grateful, and while you could not see it, everything inside you told you it was there. Hand in burning hand, the two of you descended the stairs and plotted for your first entrance into the unknowable Hells of the past - together.